Stockholm Syndrome
by vampassassin
Summary: In love with a psychotic clown and losing faith in good, insanity is looking better then ever & Harley's more then happy to go along with the Joker's war against Batman & Gotham City. She has no clue what she's getting into. Nolanverse, HQ/J
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One, 'And here we go'**

_Oh god, I've been so reluctant to post this story… I mean, I LOVE the Dark Knight, I LOVE the Joker and I LOVE Harley Quinn, but still…I'm so scared I'm gonna screw this up and have everyone come down on me like a ton of bricks :s_

_But yeah, I posted it anyway, so I'll just have to wear the consequences, whatever they be. I've been doing my best and although it starts off rather slow, I can with all certainty promise you that it will get better. It's just slow in the beginning to allow me to really set the stage and to develop Harley a little._

_Anyway, enough excuses and whimpering from me…On with the show!_

* * *

When she'd told her family and friends of her intentions to obtain a psychoanalyst's intern position at Arkham Asylum, she got mixed results. These results mainly being a disbelieving expression coupled with confusion.

At first, Harleen had always tried to take the time to rectify this error by explaining exactly what her career would entail and how it would help the city greatly. However, as it turned out, it wasn't that they found her choice in career humorous so much as their private beliefs that she'd bitten off more then she could chew. Arkham Asylum was infamous for being a dangerous place to work, both physically and mentally. More then one employee had ended up in a cell themselves.

Even Harleen's boyfriend, Jeff Muller, had raised concerns. Only this time, they'd been about her specifically and in particular, his doubts about her mental stability for choosing such a career.

"So lemme get this straight," He'd said slowly, after listening to her talk excitedly about the prospect of obtaining the internship, "You wanna get a job where you talk to insane serial rapists and killers all day?"

She'd fallen silent, hearing the incredulity in his voice and not trusting herself to give a civil response. It turned out her silence hadn't even registered with him, he kept talking.

"No offense Harleen, but you're a weirdo."

Seriously insulted, she'd promptly dumped Jeff. She'd always known he wasn't necessarily the best match for her, but that particular piece of insensitivity from him was excessive. Besides, it was far too close to the true reason she was so attracted to working with criminals.

The truth was, she was searching for the truth of her existence in her career. As a teenager, Harleen had been almost like two people. Around her family and teachers, she was academic, charming and well-behaved. Around her friends however, she became a juvenile delinquent, spending her days smoking, drinking and stealing whatever she could get her hands on for personal resale. At the peak of her 'criminal career', Harleen had been running a black market of drugs, stolen property and on occasion, guns, through her school and had even been on a first name basis with some of the Maroni kids her age. (She hadn't spoken to any of the Maroni's in ages now, although there was a strange email waiting for her in her office…)

And then it all stopped. A friend of her dad's, a police sergeant had inadvertently stumbled onto her illegal activities one day, busting the mob bar where she'd been trying to fence stolen DVDs and jewellery. Taking pity on her, he'd given her the warning that he'd let her off this one time, but if he ever caught her running with scum again, he'd arrest her himself and make sure she served time as a juvenile offender. Her sense of self-preservation well tuned, Harleen had been more then happy to accept the deal.

So, she'd quit the crime life. She hadn't been back in years. The only problem was, she missed it. This confused her enormously. She knew crime was supposed to be wrong, and yet Harleen missed it all. Thus, the attraction of working with criminals. Harleen though that maybe, she'd find an explanation for her strange cravings for danger and trouble in one of the Asylum's patients. And if this didn't prove to be the case, she could at least live vicariously through the stories of the inmates.

Harleen tried not to think of how, ultimately, her life really was aimless and empty beyond her career. Somehow, she'd managed to cut herself off completely from family and friends in her quest for personal insight.

* * *

"Harleen, you busy?"

Harleen raised her brows and looked up from the lukewarm cup of coffee she'd been considering drinking. Angela Matthews, another Intern, looked at her anxiously, blue eyes wide and framed by her blonde hair. Harleen herself had blonde hair and blue eyes, but she liked to think that she at least didn't look like a ditz the way Angela did.

"Not at all," Harleen replied, "Just on my lunchbreak, the only rest I get from my nine hour shift all day. Not busy at all."

"Oh thank god." Angela sighed, sliding into the seat next to Harleen. She never seemed to understand when her colleague was being sarcastic. It was almost like Harleen was speaking a different language for all the comprehension of sarcasm Angela had. "Because I really need help with my work…"

Before Harleen could open her mouth to protest (and protest had most definitely been on her mind), Angela dumped three heavy folders on the cafeteria table in front of them and began pulling bundles of papers and reports from them. Harleen regarded the pile of paperwork with mild horror.

"It's this patient," Angela cried dramatically, stabbing a personnel file with her manicured finger, "Gresham Kawasai. Doctor Ives wants a preliminary report from me, but I just don't know what to make of this guy! I mean, his behaviour is all over the shop! Auditory hallucinations, primary _and_ secondary delusions…I swear to God-"

"Psychosis." Harleen replied, only half listening. "Gresham Kawasai suffers from psychosis. Put a suggestion in your report for him to be placed on Aripiprazole."

"Oh." Angela's mouth formed a big 'O', framing the word with surprise. "Oh yeah. Of course, that makes sense. Thanks Harleen, I'll do that. Um, you enjoy the rest of your break, yeah?"

Waiting until Angela had scurried off to locations unknown, Harleen snorted and turned back to her coffee. The prospect of swilling the bitter, now cold liquid was unappealing, but she really needed the caffeine. Night duty was murder; the only way she ever made it through them was by drowning her metabolic system in every legal stimulant available to her. So, wrinkling her nose in disgust, Harleen poured the Styrofoam cup of coffee down her throat. To her credit, she only gagged once and that was more a psychological, deliberate gesture rather then a genuine response.

After depositing the cup in the trash, Harleen straightened her coat, washed her hands and headed back to the admin desk to pick up the reports and patient info she'd left behind.

"And here we go." She muttered to herself, trying not to feel pessimistic about her chances of finding personal revelation tonight.

* * *

"Are you my new doctor?"

Harleen offered Sanjay Pirii a smile. Maybe it was just the drugs, but it seemed that Sanjay wasn't as agitated by her presence today as he was normally. Harleen hoped it was a good sign. It would be the first one since Sanjay's admittance to Arkham Asylum.

"No Sanjay," she replied kindly, "I'm helping the doctor though. Would you mind answering some questions for me?"

She waited for the man's response with bated breath. Normally, Sanjay's medication proved largely ineffective and upon registering her presence, he'd attack Harleen. However, a new drug had been developed, coming out of the medical branch of Wayne Enterprises. It both sedated patients just enough to keep them calm and also improved rational thought patterns. The only down side was that it seemed to have retardant effects on the short term memory and on basic thought speech patterns. Thus Sanjay not recognising Harleen, despite having met her several times since being admitted to Arkham, two months ago.

"'Kay." Sanjay muttered, "S'pose that's ok."

Although inwardly triumphant, Harleen remained calm. She gave Sanjay another smile and tried to look as friendly as possible.

"Okay, that's great." She said encouragingly, "Now, can you tell me anything about Michelle Justins?"

Recognition flickered through Sanjay's eyes at the mention of his first victim's name. He nodded sluggishly and scratched the side of his face idly.

"Yeah." He nodded eagerly, "She pretty, very pretty."

Harleen narrowed her eyes, remembering what she could from the murder file on Michelle Justins. From memory, Michelle Justins had been small and a model…

"And did you ever meet her Sanjay?"

Sanjay nodded again, imitating a bobble-head.

"Yeah!" He grinned widely and a trickle of drool oozed from his mouth, "Like I said, very pretty. I find her walk home."

Harleen tensed. Now was the crucial moment. If she could just worm a confession out of this man, he could be transferred into high security where he belonged…

"What did you do when you met her Sanjay?"

Even heavily sedated, there was no mistaking the feral, greedy glint that entered Sanjay's eyes. Harleen looked at the drooling, overweight and feral man and resisted the urge to shudder from disgust.

"I pushed her over," Sanjay giggled, more drool trickling from his mouth, "And I made her all naked!"

"Right." Harleen remembered then. Post-mortem examination had revealed that Michelle had been raped prior to death. "And you killed her…after?"

"Kill…" For a moment, Harleen thought Sanjay was fighting the sedation. Then, the brief flicker of intelligence in his eyes died and his languid, dopey smile returned. "Made her _bleed_. I picked up a big rock and smacked her head in. She would'a told police."

Inadvertently, Harleen's eyes flickered over to the one-way mirror where her mentor, Doctor Vahns watched. Sanjay noticed the gesture and suddenly, rage contorted his features.

"He told me you spy on me!" He roared, springing to his feet, "He tells me! He tells me…HE TELL ME!"

Before Harleen could run for the door, Sanjay lunged at her and tackled her to the ground. Flailing blindly, Sanjay punched Harleen in the face a couple of times before Doctor Vahns and two orderlies came crashing into the room. Sanjay was torn away from Harleen, re-sedated and carried out of the room. Doctor Vahns stayed behind to help Harleen to her feet. He let go of her hands very quickly.

"Are you alright?" He asked, eyeing her doubtfully, "Your nose isn't broken?"

Harleen shook her head empathetically, dabbing at the blood.

"No," she gasped, trying to get her breath back, "Just sore. What did Sanjay mean?"

Doctor Vahns frowned at her and stood back to give Harleen room to brush herself off. He was a rather avoidant man anyway, prone to doing his best to remove himself from situations of physical contact or emotional instability. He looked sad and lonely truthfully, hangdog and awkward in his perfectly pressed scrubs and white coat.

"Pardon?"

"Sanjay said 'he told me you spy on me'," Harleen said, "What did he mean by that?"

Doctor Vahns looked very alarmed suddenly. Harleen didn't blame him. This could mean that Sanjay was experiencing a worsening in his auditory hallucinations, or it could mean he was illicitly communicating with other patients. Either option was bad.

"I'm not sure," He replied tersely, "And with building construction going on, I don't have time to look into it…"

Harleen grimaced. As part of Gotham City's legal and infrastructural revival, Arkham Asylum was being required to undergo some 'modifications'. This meant they were just getting the building remodelled to look 'more public friendly'. God forbid they actually get something _practical_ done to the building. In the mean time, it was playing havoc with Arkham's security and administrative organisation.

"I'll look into it." She said eventually, seeing no other alternative, "I can work some overtime-"

"-Unpaid." Doctor Vahns said pointedly, "Our budget can't handle any paid overtime at the moment. Especially not for an Intern."

'_Money-grubbing asshole.' _Harleen thought savagely. She already had trouble just paying for her tiny apartment in the Narrows on top of groceries, toiletries and the other utility bills. It wouldn't kill Vahns to pass a few extra dollars her way, just to ease the pressure a little. But then, as good a doctor as he was, Vahns was renown for being tight with money.

"In that case," Harleen said as calmly as she could, "Maybe I should reconsider-"

"Harleen," Doctor Vahns shot her a glare, "You volunteered for the job. It's my recommendation you don't break your word to me. It might cause me to consider your continued internship at this facility to be a…foolish notion."

Harleen gritted her teeth and tried not to clench her fists. She felt like throttling her mentor. For a moment, she honestly thought she _would_, her anger and outrage was so great. Then, the thought of her being carried out of here by the orderlies, like Sanjay had just been, occurred to her. Releasing a pent-up growl as a sigh, Harleen forced herself to smile and nod obsequiously.

"Of course," She said, voice shaking a little from the effort of remaining polite, "I made a mistake, and I shall rectify it. I'll get started on the problem now."

"Excellent." Doctor Vahns beamed, suddenly all charm, "I look forward to reading your report in two days time."

As the Doctor left the room, leaving Harleen alone surrounded by the white walls and floor, she flipped him off crankily. Whilst it was highly unprofessional and immature, it made her feel a little better. A very little.

* * *

"Harleen, I got the information you needed." Daniel Bergmann was always as prompt as possible with her requests. Efficiency was something Harleen cherished and heaven knew they saw little enough of it here. She accepted the small stack of papers from him gratefully.

"Thankyou Daniel." She said, quickly flicking through the first few pages, "I really…"

She trailed off, suddenly tensing. Daniel looked at her curiously.

"Did I forget something?" He asked.

Harleen shook her head slowly, seemingly transfixed by the page in front of her. Daniel tried to look over her shoulder at it, but it was impossible.

"What is it?" He asked impatiently.

"Sanjay Pirii's auditory hallucinations were slacking off," she said quietly, "So that leaves only illicit inter-patient communication as an option…He only has an occupied cell on one side; only this person, this 'neighbour', could have communicated with him…"

"And?"

Harleen swallowed dryly.

"We have a problem. Sanjay's 'neighbour' is the Joker."

Daniel swore under his breath viciously and Harleen gave him a pale, suddenly wan look. She smiled weakly.

"Yeah," she said, "Exactly."

* * *

**So...Exactly how bad did it suck? I'm updating pretty much right after this, so you'll have chapter two to complain about as well! Yay!**


	2. Chapter 2

_-Le sigh- Well, at least there's a little action in here..._

* * *

**Chapter Two, Haunt **

That name sent a thrill of dismay through Harleen. This was partly because he had almost destroyed her beloved Gotham City. However, it was also partly for far more personal reasons.

She'd studied him for her application for the internship in Arkham Asylum. She'd had to choose an 'unresolved' patient and present a file on them, complete with her own opinions and theories based off of available information. Never for one second predicting the consequences, Harleen decided that choosing the Joker for an application topic would be a suitable decision.

Well, it certainly proved informative, but not in the sense she'd hoped for. It wasn't long before Harleen was obsessed by her application. The Joker haunted her, news clips featuring his arrest floated before her even when she closed her eyes. She heard his insane, eerie laughter whenever she tried to sleep. Worse still, the information on his earlier, more personal kills ran ceaselessly through her mind. Desperate to regain control of her own mind, Harleen immersed herself completely in her application, trying to completely rid herself of any trace of the Joker. She didn't sleep for three days.

However, by the end of it, Harleen had produced what her examiner detailed as an 'original, observant and superbly written approach to a difficult and chilling topic. Almost as if you were hovering just beyond the limits of the Joker's very mind itself!'

Well, that was a compliment hitting just a little to close to home for Harleen's liking. Once she'd secured her internship, she did her best to forget those three nights where the Joker was all she could think of. Now, it was all coming back to haunt her again.

* * *

The Joker was bored. He'd been counting the number of individual cushioned bits on the right hand wall of his cell when a thought struck him. He was in a padded cell to stop himself from hurting himself or worse. The good citizens of Gotham, or the police at least, wanted him alive. They feared he'd try to derive them of that doubtful pleasure. They thought he was going to kill himself if given the opportunity. How funny.

So funny in fact that the Joker had laughed for five minutes straight. As if he'd rid himself of the opportunity to make Gotham suffer further in the future! How stupid exactly were these self-proclaimed doctors and 'therapists'?!

Sadly however, the mirth hadn't lasted long and afterwards, the Joker was bored. Whilst he didn't mind the security measures (beyond the obvious annoyance of imprisonment of course and even that was a temporary issue), the boredom was killing him. Ha ha ha…

Not really. Grimacing slightly, the Joker scratched at the corner of one of his scars in irritation. They kept the air conditioning on all day here, the dry air played havoc with his skin, already sensitive after constant exposure to the paints. The skin around his scars was red and itchy, not at all funny. He didn't like not having his paints on, it was…

Awkward. That was the word. Not quite frightening or embarrassing, because he was fairly sure he wasn't quite capable of those two emotions. Just awkward. Like introducing yourself to a co-worker, only to realise that they've shared an office with you for two years without you even realising.

The Joker supposed he should at least be grateful he had the use of his hands. Originally, they'd wanted him in a strait-jacket for most of the day, but that hadn't gone well. Pissed off at being so confined, he'd refused to eat for three days and whenever a nurse or orderly had tried to force food upon him, he'd quite cheerfully bitten them as hard as possible. One of the nurses had required twelve stitches to her forearm as a result. The common joke after that was that she'd need a rabies shot.

Whilst the Joker had found that remark quite insulting, he'd been pleased by his little tantrum. It'd ensured he was allowed to remain unrestrained within his own cell, provided he didn't assault any other staff. Granted, that took a lot of fun out of his current predicament, but he supposed it was worth the sacrifice if he got to stay out of a strait-jacket.

That didn't leave much to do sadly, so the Joker was now very bored. The only things left for him to do at present were exercise and talk to himself. Both of which he did, almost to an obsessive level. He was careful not to let the staff become aware of either habit. They'd put him on medication if they heard him talking to himself and they'd probably diagnose him with an eating disorder or something equally ridiculous for the overexercise.

Speaking of which…The Joker figured from the sounds of people moving outside his cell that it was the shift change. That meant it was time to get up and move around. He had plans (haha, and they believed he never had plans!) to get out of this place, and it would really suck to have it all ruined simply because he got a cramp in a muscle.

He was halfway around his circuit of his cell when there was a buzzing sound. That was someone on the other side signalling they were coming in and that he was to remain behind the red line painted across the floor. The Joker looked down at his feet. One of them was behind the line whilst the other was in front. Whatever, he wasn't planning to do anything. This time.

Just then the door opened and an orderly walked in. The Joker knew this guy; he was named Doug and had all the patience of an agitated rhinoceros. He was such fun to mess with.

"Hello Doug," The Joker grinned widely at him, knowing he'd have to compensate considering the gesture wasn't nearly as effective without his face-paints, "Come to see me again? I'm, uh, flattered, but I don't think we'd make a suitable couple."

It was well known that Doug was a massive homophobe. The big man shuddered and shot the Joker a vicious look, hands twitching with an obvious desire to close them around his tormentor's throat.

"Shut your mouth you freak!"

"Fuh-reak?" The Joker repeated incredulously, smacking his lips as he did so. "I don't think that's very…very good for my self-esteem. Might stunt my treatment you know. Make me…prone to aggression. Wouldn't want you to be hanging around when that happens."

Doug barely contained a growl.

"Whatever. I have to ask you a few questions."

That one got the Joker's attention. The only questions ever asked where during his 'therapy sessions'. What could be possibly be of such importance they were asking at this time of night?

"Really?" He drawled, feigning disinterest, "And why isn't Doctor Marvel asking these, uh, questions?"

Doug fixed the Joker with flat stare that was obviously meant to intimidate. The Joker just tilted his head to one side and laughed in response. Honestly, how stupid was this buffoon? As if _he_ was going to be intimidated by this glorified janitor!

"B'cause," Doug grunted, "These questions don't come from Marvel. They're from an intern."

The Joker wagged his brows and tutted.

"A lowly intern?" he mused out loud, "How…insulting. What's this intern's name, hmm?"

Even if Doug didn't want to tell the Joker, he had to. Under Gotham law, the Joker was entitled to the names of medical personnel who were obtaining any personal details of his. Several doctors were trying to have this law changed in the Joker's case, for personal security.

"Harleen," Doug replied sullenly, "Her name's Harleen Quinzel."

That one sent the Joker into near-hysterics. It took five minutes for the insane laughter to end and by then, Doug was reduced to a cringing mess. The Joker's mirth seemed to have that effect on people. On his first day in Arkham, he'd actually reduced a nurse to tears. That'd been a wonderful experience.

"You're being honest with me?" The Joker asked with a delighted smile, "Her name is, uh, actually Harleen Quinzel?"

"Yeah, now are you gonna answer the questions or not?"

The Joker mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. Doug shot him one last glowering look before glancing at the palm card where Harleen had scrawled down the questions he needed to remember. Just as Doug opened his mouth to begin, the Joker suddenly thought of something.

"Why doesn't…doesn't this Harleen Quinzel ask me herself?" He asked suspiciously, wondering suddenly if he'd missed something. It didn't happen very often, but it _was_ still a possibility. Theoretically speaking.

"She's an intern," Doug reminded him bluntly, "She ain't allowed to talk to max-sec patients unless authorized. Her mentor, Doctor Vahns hasn't had a chance to sign the paperwork yet. I'm playing message boy for now."

"Really?" The Joker mused out loud. "Sounds like, uh, Miss Quinzel is…biting off more then she can chew."

Doug eyed the Joker warily at that remark before turning back to his real purpose here.

"She wants to know if you ever communicated or came into contact with Sanjay Pirii. According to Harleen, this includes both in past and present terms, inside and outside of Arkham."

The Joker grimaced; this 'Harleen Quinzel' certainly was thorough. He had to give her credit for that at least. Normally, he would have delighted in giving a response that was half-true, but in this case, he wasn't sure he had that option. Maybe he'd just have to answer the questions fully and see what fun he could manufacture from the results.

"Sanjay?" He repeated, pretending to think about it. "Sanjay Pirii…Hmm…"

Just when Doug had reached the limit of his patience and was about to go report the Joker was being uncooperative, the Joker brightened.

"Oh!" He grinned, "Michelle Justins' killer. Suffered from psychosis."

Doug narrowed his eyes, not at all liking the malevolent glee in the Joker's expression. There wasn't anything he could do about it though, so he just nodded slowly.

The Joker noted the orderly's unhappiness and his grin widened.

"I, uh, did at one point speak with him. Not very…he was a terrible con-vuh-sersationalist though."

Alarmed now, Doug asked the next question Harleen had thought of.

"How did you talk to him? You ain't allowed into contact with other inmates."

The Joker's brows shot up and he gave a small giggle.

"I'm, uh, pretty certain that the correct term is 'patients'…"

Doug scowled.

"Whatever. How did you talk to Pirii?"

The Joker giggled again and shook his head.

"If you can't figure it out, I don't feel inclined to answer that. Next question?"

Doug growled and shoved the little piece of paper with the questions scrawled on it into his coat pocket.

"No way! You answer all the questions fully or you get put in a jacket!"

The Joker's smile was condescending now.

"That didn't…Yes, that was a huge success last time, wasn't it?"

Doug didn't reply, fists clenched and struggling to resist the urge to strangle the psychopath. The Joker took the man's tension and obvious temper in with calculating eyes and resumed the attack.

"And buh-sides, I hardly think the doctors are going to listen to a glorified janitor, especially when I, uh, tell them about your previous little indiscretions-"

Success. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Doug lunged forward, slamming the Joker up against the wall. Barely noticing the pain of the back of his head smacking against the concrete through the thin, padded layer, the Joker started giggling uncontrollably. Enraged further, Doug punched the other man square in the face.

"Oh!" The Joker's words were thickened a little by his now broken nose, "This is wonderful! You really are a thug! That's why you hated Sanjay so much, because he reminded you of yourself from all those years-"

Another punch. Made clumsy in his fury, Doug lost his grip on the Joker and before he could react, the Joker drew his legs up and kicked out. His feet hit Doug solidly on the chest, simultaneously winding and pushing the man back. Flailing wildly to keep his balance, something fluttered from the orderly's pocket without his noticing. The Joker started forward, but at that moment, two more orderlies came rushing into the room with an armed security guard.

"Ah, the cavalry arrives." The Joker noted, still giggling. He quickly raised his hands and stepped back, behind the red line. He patiently stayed there, smiling and laughing, whilst the orderlies tried to get Doug under control. After a minute or so, they gave up on attempting to calm him down. They quickly just gave him a shot of sedative and bundled him from the room. The security guard stayed for a moment longer, eyeing the Joker warily. In response, the Joker waved to him merrily. Shuddering, the armed man quickly left the room. The electronic doors slid shut and locked automatically behind him.

Immediately, the Joker stopped laughing. Interestedly, he put his hand up to his nose where blood still trickled profusely. Not at all perturbed by the injury, he merely wiped as much of the blood away as possible with his sleeve. Shaking excess blood away from his clothing, the Joker quickly walked to where the item that had fallen from Doug's pocket sat innocently on the ground.

It was the piece of paper with all of this mysterious 'Harleen Quinzel's' questions scrawled on it. Her handwriting was an intriguing chaotic mess of loops, curls and points.

**1. Did he talk to Sanjay Pirii? (both past, present, in and out of Arkham)**

**2. How'd he talk to another inmate?!**

**3. What'd he say?**

Hmm. Predictable questions at best. Downright insulting at worst. Curling his lip, the Joker turned the paper over, looking for anything more. That was where he struck pay-dirt. Obviously in a hurry, Harleen had written the questions on the first thing she could get her hands on. In this case, it was an email printout addressed to Ms. Quinzel from a 'Vern Roamin'.

_Hey Harley, long time no talk. Fair enough, you moved on I guess. You were lucky, I stayed and look how that ended up. The cops are still tearing us apart, it's fucking insane. Speaking of insane, little bird tells me you guys at the funny farm are housing the Joker. Just wanted to give ya a warning: that guy's a fucking nutjob, he'll cut ya soon as look at ya. Watch yourself Harley._

_By the way, I ran into Lucy the other week. She says you haven't seen her in somethin' like three months. She's worried bout you. Says you weren't even halfways through therapy yet. I just wondered why you stopped seein' her. Yeah she's a shrink for some of us, but just coz you see the same shrink as my family don't mean you have to come back to us._

_Whatever, just wanted to give you the warning mostly. Unless something happens, I'll probably leave alone for good now. _

"Well, well, well," The Joker mused out loud, a grin inching back onto his face, "Miss Quinzel is not all she seems."

Suddenly, he liked the idea of meeting his new therapist very much indeed.

* * *

**Actually, just realised this... It's never a good thing when the Joker is interested in you...Usually means /bad/ things...**

**Anyway, hope that wasn't too awful to read...**

**TTFN from Vampassassin**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three, Early Morning Conversation**

_Hey guys, thanks for the positive words you had for me! They're a real encouragement, which leads to me giving you guys the thanks you definitely deserve! Hopefully my gratitude shows through this chapter :D_

* * *

Somehow, when the news of Doug's little tantrum reached Harleen, she wasn't surprised. She'd always known he was a moron; it'd always intrigued her that the Asylum had even bothered hiring someone so obviously unstable. The only unexpected part to the whole affair was the news that Doug had three sexual assault and rape charges that he'd managed to keep a secret with some help from one of the many corrupt cops in GCPD.

Shaking her head thoughtfully, Harleen spun around idly in her desk chair, mentally going through her to-do lists. She'd filled out the report after Sanjay's assault on her; she'd attended to the two other patient interviews… Harleen realised after a few more minute's that she'd done all her work for today plus a little of tomorrow's. That meant she could attend to a little personal stuff.

Harleen turned to her desk, looking for the email she'd printed out that morning. It should have been next to the purple folder next to her keyboard, but it wasn't. Frowning, she wheeled over to her filing cabinet and quickly rifled through there. Still no email. There was nowhere else it could be. Harleen had been lucky to have a private office, considering she was only an intern. As a result, she kept it scrupulously clean and tidy.

"What the hell?" She muttered to herself, dragging her fingers through her blonde hair. She had been certain she'd placed the email, face-down (she didn't want anyone wondering into her office and being tempted to read it) next to the purple folder that contained this week's assignments and reports. The only time she'd moved anything in her office today had been to scrawl down some notes for Doug to take to…

"Oh." Harleen's eyes widened in horror. Of course! She'd been in the middle of something when Doug had come to be briefed, so she'd grabbed the first piece of paper available. Her email! Doug must still have it!

Harleen began to panic. She didn't think Doug was bright enough to figure out the meaning of the email on his own, but if someone such as Doctor Marvel or Vahns got their hands on it…

"Shit!" Harleen cursed before leaping to her feet and running out of her office. Doug had been taken to the infirmary, so that'd be where she'd go.

She came to a screeching halt (quite literally screeching too due to her work shoes not mixing well with the linoleum floors) when she saw the armed guard standing post outside the infirmary doors.

"Doctor Quinzel." The guard greeted her. Technically, she wasn't yet a doctor, but her experience and knowledge was enough that Harleen didn't feel that the title was completely undeserved. "What's happening?"

"Um, I need to see Doug." She replied tersely, trying not to twitch from foot to foot.

The guard gave her a wry look.

"You know I can't let you in there."

Harleen clenched her fists and bit back a snarl.

"Well, can you check something for me?"

The guard sighed but dipped his head in agreement.

"Alright, what is it?"

Harleen licked her lips, trying not to look too desperate, lest the guard's personal interest be aroused.

"Um, I accidentally gave Doug a piece of paper, a personal email he shouldn't have. It's still in his pocket or something I think."

The guard shook his head.

"Doug didn't have anything but his ID in his pocket Doctor Quinzel. I was there when they did a strip search."

Fresh horror flood Harleen. If Doug didn't have the email, who did?!

"Hey, you okay?" The guard frowned at the expression on her face. "You look kinda sick."

"I just…just need a moment." Harleen said faintly. "Been a long night."

The guard nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, I bet. I heard 'bout Sanjay and all that. Maybe you should go get a coffee or somethin'."

"Yes." Harleen said sadly, realising she was in for a nervous, restless few days until she found that email. "Maybe I should."

* * *

"_Hey honey, it's your mother. Just calling to say you're invited to a little family dinner next week on Tuesday…You know, I never seem to hear from you anymore and-"_

Harleen inwardly groaned and ignored the rest of the message, letting the machine continue to run as she dumped her coat and keys on the counter. It was cold in her small apartment, but Harleen didn't mind. She hated the heat anyway. It was near to four in the morning; there was no point in turning the heating on when the sun would be up in three or four hours anyway.

Yawning, Harleen took her hair out of its ponytail and strolled to her refrigerator. There was a half full bottle of white in there, but Harleen got the feeling she'd end up finishing it all in one go. So, she removed the orange juice instead and without hesitation, drank it straight out of the bottle.

It was pathetic as an alcohol substitute, but Harleen supposed it would have to do. Putting the empty bottle in the box under the sink for recycling, she decided a shower was in order.

Grateful to shed her work outfit (black scrubs with a white medical coat), Harleen stepped into her shower. She had the water lukewarm, the perfect temperature in her opinion. Not so cold you couldn't stand it, but not so warm it made you feel fevered.

Harleen had just started to relax, when she heard something. The sound of her front door being unlocked. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

Shaking from fear, Harleen stepped from the shower. She didn't turn the water off, in case the intruder heard it and realised she was coming. Wrapping herself up securely in a towel, Harleen rummaged in her bathroom cabinet as quietly as she could, searching for any kind of weapon. After a moment or two, or she could find was her hairdryer. That'd have to do.

Creeping out of the bathroom, Harleen headed towards the kitchen from the hallway. She thought she heard something briefly, but then everything fell silent. When she reached the entrance into the kitchen, she peered around the corner, trying to be quiet.

And then she saw it. A scream burst forth from Harleen's mouth.

* * *

"Ms. Quinzel." The guard at the front desk frowned at her. "You're back. I thought your next shift wasn't until-"

"Yeah." Harleen cut him off with a wan smile. "Something…something came to my attention however. I needed to come in early."

"Alright," The guard seemed uneasy, but then, it was seven thirty in the morning and he'd been awake since ten o'clock the previous evening. "I'll just buzz Doctor Vahns and let him know you're coming in."

"Thanks." Harleen barely gave the guard another look before hurrying down the corridor. Without even bothering to knock, she walked into Vahns' office. He had been on the phone, but when he saw Harleen, he muttered a quick 'I see her now', and hung up.

"What's going on?" He demanded, looking both worried and irritated, "You're not due back here until seven tonight."

"I…" Harleen had to swallow the fear that was rising once more inside her. "Have you gotten my authorization to work with the Joker yet?"

"Yes, I just finished it ten minutes ago, but you could've called to ask that. What's going on Harleen?"

"I want to talk to him." Harleen said bluntly, "The Joker I mean. He… Someone broke into my apartment, whilst I was there."

Doctor Vahns' eyes flashed in alarm.

"Are you alright?!" He demanded, "Did you call the police?"

"No, but I will when I get home." Harleen replied, "For now, I just want to talk with the Joker."

"Why?" Vahns was still having trouble connecting the dots. "You think he had something to do with this?"

"I'm almost certain of it." Harleen was growing impatient; she just wanted to get on with the daunting task at hand. "Maybe my questions annoyed him, or maybe they interested him. Either way, the Joker was involved in the break-in somehow. He left me a message."

Perhaps the grim determination in Harleen's voice finally registered with Doctor Vahns. He gave her one last lingering look before nodding slowly and passing her a new maximum security (max-sec) ID badge.

"I don't think you're doing the right thing Harleen," He told her wearily, "But I know that once you get an idea, there's no stopping you. You may speak to the Joker and God help you for it. My only wish is that you would tell me what message he left."

Harleen took her new ID wordlessly. She and Vahns both knew that she would never answer that question. Harleen was fiercely protective of her privacy and had an almost masochistic tendency to insist on handling her problems with as close to no interference or assistance as possible.

Then, just as Harleen prepared to walk out of the room, Vahns said something. It was the sudden fear in her mentor's voice that caught her attention.

"Harleen, if the Joker is in here, and not allowed to talk to anyone, how did he know where you live? How did he leave you that message?"

That thought send a horrified shudder through Harleen, but she managed to meet Doctor Vahns' gaze levelly regardless. It was difficult though, meeting his eyes.

"Perhaps I'll ask him." She answered flatly, "What room will I talk to him in?"

Doctor Vahns sighed and rubbed his face with the heel of his hand.

"I'll tell the orderlies to bring him into Room Six. It'll take about fifteen minutes, so you might want to take the time to prepare yourself. If it'll help."

Harleen nodded slightly and strode out of the room, the picture of calm determination. Inwardly however, she was a chaos of fear and panic. She knew what Vahns had meant by that last remark. No one could really ever expect preparation to be of any help, not when the Joker was involved.

* * *

Harleen caught sight of herself in a glass pane protecting an evacuation map. Startled, she stopped and moved closer to glass, staring at herself.

She looked like a ticking time bomb. After discovering the message in her apartment, Harleen had been unable to do anything but stand frozen in her kitchen for three hours, slowly winning the struggle against her terror to regain control of her mind. In that time, her hair had dried a little after her shower, but it looked messy and a little damp still. Her uniform was creased and her face was deathly-pale and looked wound tight as a spring. A spring that could undo at any moment, triggering some horrible, lethal reaction.

"_I can't go in looking like this!" _Harleen realised in a mixture of annoyance and fresh worry, _"I'll look more psychotic then him!"_

Quite obviously, that was saying something. Harleen had seen the Joker's Asylum file, complete with mug shot. Even without his paints and customary costume of purple, the man looked feral and dangerous.

The man. Not 'the Joker'. Harleen knew that she was trying to avoid her patient's self-given title as much as possible. She was scared as it was, and the title only worsened that emotion. If she was going to get answers from him, Harleen was going to need to be as self-confident as possible.

With that in mind, Harleen quickly dragged her fingers through her hair and smoothed it the best she could. When that didn't work, she just took an elastic band from her pocket and pulled her thick, blonde hair into a severe bun. Then she jogged on the spot a little, to bring some colour back to her face. After a couple of minutes of this, Harleen thought she looked mildly better. Not great, but as best as could be expected under the circumstances.

Taking in a bracing breath, Harleen continued towards Room Six.

* * *

When she reached the ante-room to her destination, Harleen refused to let herself look through the one-way mirror to the main room where the Joker sat patiently. Instead, she turned to the armed guard waiting by the door, a man by the name of Derrick. Harleen knew Derrick well, he was reliable and friendly. A rarity in this place.

"I'm okay to go in?" She asked, more to giver herself an extra second to settle her heart-rate rather then out of actual uncertainty. Derrick nodded wordlessly, knowing what she was doing. With a final terse smile, Harleen walked through the door.

* * *

Immediately, she felt dizzy. The room was a solid box, the very air felt heavy and thick. It seemed like miles from the door (which had swung shut automatically behind her) to the small table where the Joker waited, handcuffed and silent. Shaking her giddiness away, Harleen forced herself forward, one seemingly lethargic step after another.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, she reached her destination. Harleen sat in her chair, somewhat reassured by the solidity of it, proof this wasn't a hazy, horrible nightmare.

A brief moment of silence ensued. Then, Harleen realised with a spurt of anger that the Joker was going to make her speak first, that he'd refuse to do anything until she bent to his will. If she was going to prompt any answers from him, Harleen would first have to place herself as the weaker participant from the very onset of this…this meeting.

As quickly as the anger had arrived, it faded. Harleen resisted the temptation to sigh. Honestly, she'd always known it would be like this. How could it not be? The Joker was the one with the information and thus, the one with the power. Nothing Harleen possessed could trounce that fact.

"You left me a message." Harleen said quietly. It seemed as good an opening as any and besides, it didn't leave room for her personal fears and misgivings to intrude.

The Joker smirked, pleased by his small victory.

"Mhm, you're late though."

Harleen hesitated, brow furrowed. She knew to look caught off guard would to be show weakness, and such a thing was dangerous around the Joker, but she just couldn't help it.

"How…What?"

The Joker regarded her sardonically, a tiny grin hovering around his lips.

"You, uh, should've gotten the message at four. It's a quarter to eight now."

Harleen almost recoiled, shocked not by how the Joker uncaringly mocked her, but how aware he was of his surroundings. There was no clock in his cell; he should not have known the time.

"How-?"

"I can count." The Joker's smirk was more pronounced and Harleen almost hung her head, feeling like a child that had said something ridiculously dim-witted and unthinking. "And you waited close to four hours, or err, fourteen thousand, four hundred seconds if you preferrr, to talk. Not very, uh, polite, Miss Harrrleen Quinzel."

Harleen almost snarled, furious at the way the Joker regarded her name with such scorn and amusement.

"That's Doctor Quinzel!"

The Joker gave her a look of mock-hurt.

"I thought you were only an intern? I wouldn't want to…reward the undeserving with such a title."

Harleen took in a shuddering breath, reminding herself that he was playing games, _trying_ to aggravate her. She couldn't let him succeed.

"You're prohibited contact with anyone other then your immediate caretakers," she said, refusing to acknowledge his insult, "So how did you get my address and send…send your m-message over?"

The Joker tilted his head to one side, green hair swaying like a curtain, and looked at her in confusion.

"What message?"

Harleen resisted the urge to shriek from frustration. The only good part of the Joker being so singularly irritating was that at least it was helping her ignore her fear.

"You know perfectly damn well what-"

"I wouldn't assume that just because I'm the one, uh, imprisoned here, it's safe to be rude to me," The Joker hissed, cutting her words off, "Just think, if I can escape the all too eager GCPD, I can escape here. You wouldn't want to, uh, be _on my mind_ if I do escape Arkham, would you?"

Harleen's anger shrivelled instantaneously and her fear flooded back in a torrent. Her mouth stayed open for a second, lips quivering. Then, she shut it and simply stared at the Joker with wide, blue eyes. He smiled at her pleasantly.

"I like you better already." He said cheerfully, "Now, what message were you, uh, referring to?"

Harleen bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from whimpering. She didn't want to think about what she'd seen in her apartment, what was still waiting for her…

The Joker gave a tiny giggle. Harleen wanted badly to hit him, to let all the terror, anger and frustration bubbling away in her out in one single, vicious physical act. She couldn't though. She was frozen, unable to run, to look away or even to block her ears.

Abruptly, the Joker stopped laughing and gave her a cool, calculating look.

"Say it." He hissed, leaning forward and straining against his handcuffs.

Unashamedly shaking from fear, Harleen nodded quickly, eager to make the pure malevolence stop.

* * *

_Creeping out of the bathroom, Harleen headed towards the kitchen from the hallway. She thought she heard something briefly, but then everything fell silent. When she reached the entrance into the kitchen, she peered around the corner, trying to be quiet. _

_And then she saw it. A scream burst forth from Harleen's mouth._

_There, sitting propped up against her kitchen, was a man. Not just any man either. Harleen recognised him as Doctor Stevens. He had been given the task of overseeing the Joker's 'treatment'. What a misnomer that was; the Joker was incurable, everyone knew that._

_Doctor Stevens' sat against Harleen's wall, coated in blood. His own blood. It pooled around him in a metallic smelling puddle, giving off the impression of being the only source of colour in the apartment. It was obvious where the blood was coming from; Stevens' throat was split and his mouth was carved up in the calling card that denominated him as one of the Joker's victims._

_So horrified was Harleen that it took her a further thirty seconds to see the words written in blood above Doctor Stevens' head, on the wall._

_**fEeL LiKe A cHat??**_

_Those words were the final straw for Harleen. Her hands flying to her mouth, Harleen fell to her knees. Blood had spread far enough for it splash beneath her. Ignoring it however, Harleen just clapped her hands to her mouth and curled up like a child in the corner. She stayed there for three hours, rocking back and forth, crying and whimpering._

* * *

"See, that wasn't so, uh, hard, was it?" The Joker was leaning back in his chair, obviously confident he was very much in control of the situation now. Harleen knew he was right in that respect, but she just didn't have it in her to fight it.

"What do you want from me?" She demanded, perilously close to tears. She fought the urge to fall into histrionics though and the Joker had to grudgingly admit he admired her for it.

He may have had that tiny bit of admiration, but that didn't mean he was above continuing his torment though. The Joker had a purpose to this entire session; he wasn't going to let that go to waste.

"I, uh, actually have a few questions for you." He nodded seriously. Harleen regarded him in weary, miserable disbelief. She was the psychoanalyst here, and yet he was the one asking the questions! "Are you gonna answer them for me?"

Feeling spent by the last few minutes, Harleen nodded. She knew what she was doing was totally wrong, but she couldn't help it. She could feel her mind teetering on the thin edge that divided sanity from its counterpart, the effort of preventing herself from crossing that line left nothing for a pointless struggle against this man.

"What's Vern Maroni doing, talking to you?"

Harleen looked up sharply, shock erasing her fatigue.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

The Joker howled with laughter and for the first time since entering the room, Harleen worriedly wondered if Derrick was watching through the one-way mirror. She cast a quick glance at the pane of tinted glass. The Joker noticed her unease and grinned.

"Do you have a flashlight?" He asked, raking his eyes over her, trying to get an answer for himself. The man's scrutiny made Harleen shiver, a mix of fear and adrenalin gripping her. She nodded.

"Shine it on the mirror." The Joker sounded bored suddenly. Slowly, Harleen pulled the tiny flashlight from her pocket and did so. To her surprise, the glass was suddenly transparent beneath the flashlight's beam. She saw Derrick was still by the door, paying her no attention. Relieved, she switched the beam off.

"So?" The Joker narrowed his eyes, "What's Vern Maroni, uh, talking to _you_ for?"

"I told you," Harleen snapped, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

For a long moment, the Joker looked thoughtful, albeit in a cruel, calculating manner. Then, he suddenly gave her a smile.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He asked, using his right hand to gesture to his face. Harleen shook her head quickly. The Joker rolled his eyes.

"It's a good story, don't…don't be a spoilsport," he told her, "Now, I was what the shrinks nowadays like to call 'a troubled teen', way back. Chronically depressed and all that. I used to try all, uh, all sorts of things to cheer myself up. Even tried cocaine actually, but I had to steal all my best friend Rick's money to do that. He used to ask me, 'did you take my money?'"

There was a moment of silence. Harleen wanted to run from the room, to escape the horror that was to come, but it was too late. She'd known somehow it'd be too late the instant she spoke with the Joker. Maybe it'd been too late from day one, when she'd chosen to do her application for current position on the Joker.

Sensing his victim's rapt condition, the Joker gave a laugh and continued with his story.

"It got to be like that every…every day. 'Did you take my money?' And I'd, uh, I'd smile and laugh and shake my head. But you see, I wasn't much of a smiler normally, so Rick, bright kid he was, caught on that me smiling was a sign I was lying. Sooo, Rick asked me again one day, and when I began to smile and deny it all, he got his older brother to hold me down and he, uh, he did all this. He said that since I lied all the time, I should smile all the time."

The Joker's voice trailed off and he sat watching Harleen intently, waiting for her reaction. Harleen was shaking, absolutely horrified. And yet, intrigued by it at the same time. It was almost physically painful, being repulsed by the prospect of senseless violence and sadism, and yet being so tempted by it at the same time. She danced the line between sanity and chaos.

"I told you it was a good story," The Joker said amiably, "Don't you think?"

Harleen didn't say anything, past fear. She just sat, staring at the Joker. He smiled again.

"So, maybe you'd like to, uh, answer me this time. I know you got an email from Vern Maroni."

"Oh," Harleen gaped, realisation dawning on her, "The email! I gave it to Doug and he must have dropped it…"

"Yup." The Joker smacked his lips and leant forward. "Besides, Vern's pseudonym is terrible. 'Vern Roamin'. Please, 'Roamin' is an anagram for 'Maroni'. I just wanna know how you guys are on speaking terms."

"W-we're not." Harleen shook her head frantically, panicking at all her deep buried secrets being revealed, but helpless to stop it. "I just knew him form when I was a kid. I knew a couple of the Maroni kids. I haven't spoken to any of them since then though!"

"Uh-huh," The Joker absorbed Harleen's panic and shame in interest, "So you had, uh, problems as a kid. And what about Lucy?"

Harleen felt defeat and shame set in, making her bow her head.

"I had a nervous breakdown a couple years back and didn't recover very well. I was seeing Lucy, a psychologist, for it until I found out she was connected with the mob. I stopped going to therapy. That was three months ago."

The Joker began to chuckle, a high-pitched vicious noise, more like the laugh of a hyena then a real expression of human amusement.

"Oh I like you," He told Harleen, once he'd regained control of himself, "I thought you were going to be another _boring_ therapist! But you…you're just the opposite!"

"W-what?" Harleen suddenly got the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

"Weell," The Joker spoke as if to an idiot, "You pretend to be little Miss Ambition, boring therapist extraordinaire… And then, I see the _real_ Harleen Quinzel. Juvenile delinquent, all grown up and missing her, uh, crime days so much she's living vicariously through all the rapists and killer and-"

"No!" Harleen gasped, horrified by what was coming from the terrible, scarred mouth of the Joker, "That's not…That isn't how it is!"

The Joker laughed at her misery, mocking her hurt and embarrassment with an inhumane accuracy and viciousness.

"Harleen," He said, still chuckling, "I've got a knack for spotting liars, and, uh, you may as well be carrying a neon sign or something. Just admit it, even just to yourself, you don't want to help the… freaks and weirdos in here, you just want to suck up every little story, every little word they give and pretend like you're that tough little gang girl from all those years back."

Harleen could feel hot, angry tears stinging in her eyes, as of yet unfallen. Her entire body quivered with the effort of holding herself in her seat. The Joker licked his lips thoughtfully, head tilted to one side and dark brown eyes watching her closely. Harleen _knew_ he was waiting for her to lie again, but she couldn't help herself.

"You're a liar!" She snarled, all too aware how very close she was to losing it all together, "You have no…no _fucking_ clue what you're talking about! You don't know _anything_ about me!"

Pretending to be hurt, the Joker put his handcuffed hands up defensively.

"Geez, bite my head off." He said, barely hiding his grin, "Maybe you're right though. I mean, it's probably just my imagination that you, uh, that you have a drinking problem and that you're hiding it from-"

That one did it. Before she totally knew quite what she was doing, Harleen was out her seat. She lunged at the Joker, intending to hit him, to do everything within her power to just make that horrible, smiling face lose its mirth and feel some of her pain and suffering.

She never had that opportunity however. Before Harleen could lay so much as a single hand on the Joker, he somehow pulled one of his hands _out_ of his handcuffs and hit Harleen so hard in the face, she went flying back, almost breaking her right wrist when she put her hand out as she hit the ground.

Quick as a flash, the Joker was crouching by her, one hand tangling in her hair and pulling her head up to his. Harleen tried to pull away, but only succeeded in hurting herself. The Joker's eyes, filled with malevolent glee, were fixed on hers.

"You're almost more fun then old Batsy, Harleen," He told her, almost gently, "I think you and I are going to have to spend some time together…Quality time."

Harleen said nothing, frozen by a terrible, inexplicable fascination in the man before her. She knew she should be terrified, but she couldn't work the fear up. She couldn't manage any emotions beyond the entrancement and beguilement that gripped her.

"How do you propose that?" She asked, quietly, challengingly. There was no need to raise her voice when his face was mere inches away. "You are a prisoner in this place; I come and go as I please."

The Joker's eyes narrowed and he smirked.

"You won't be able to stand it." He said. "You, uh, you'll feel like you're losing your mind. You'll let the clown out of the box eventually."

Harleen glared at her tormentor, ready to spit defiance and anger. Before she had done anything more then open her mouth however, there was a shout.

"Let her go Joker!" Derrick had entered the room. He looked furious and was pointing his gun at the Joker. "Five seconds to let Quinzel go and take three steps back."

Chuckling darkly under his breath, the Joker didn't even bother to wait for Derrick to start counting. He let go of Harleen without any hesitation before walking all the way to the opposite side of the room. He sat down, back against the wall and eyes fixed on Harleen. She ignored him, letting Derrick help her to her feet.

"Harleen, did he hurt you?" Derrick's dark grey eyes glared angrily over her shoulder at the Joker. Harleen shook her head and wondered why it felt like she was lying.

"N-no." She replied, "I think I'm done though. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow."

Derrick pursed his lips and looked upset, but nodded any way. He opened the door and held it for Harleen. Smiling gratefully at Derrick, she was just about to walk through when the Joker spoke again.

"Harleen!" He called her name. Slowly, unwillingly, she stopped and looked back at him. His smile was all too bright and sunny.

"I just thought of a joke!" He told her. Harleen's heart caught in her throat and despite her instincts screaming at her to _get the hell out of there_, and despite Derrick's tugging hand on her wrist, she stayed. The Joker nodded happily and giggled.

"It's a very, uh, good joke." He began. "It's like… Well, you know your name, Harleen Quinzel? Well, if you change it a bit-"

'_-Oh god no!'_ Harleen though, inwardly panicking, knowing where this was going and knowing this would truly be the end of her. She couldn't stand it, she had never been able to…Not from him, not from the kids at school…

"-You could become Harley Quinn!" The Joker said delightedly, eyes boring into Harleen's. She felt tears begin to flood down her face and she almost passed out.

"No!" She howled at him, held back only by Derrick's strong arms around her waist, "No! You sick asshole! Why?! Why'd you have to…?"

The Joker's laughter burst into life, filling the room and sending Harleen even further into her insane, twisted abyss. Sobbing and shaking, she turned away and ran from the room. However, just before the door swung shut behind her, she heard his parting shot.

"_Keep on smilin' Harley!"_

* * *

**I really do love the Joker, even if he is a sadistic son of a bitch :P**

**Anyway, I love you all and hope to update again soon.**

**TTFN from vampassassin**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'll say in advance that there's not really any action in this chapter. However, it was an important one to write because I think it really starts to delve into Harley's past and how even things from when she was only five years old have shaped her mind now. You also get to see the very beginnings of Harley starting to feel the effects of the Joker's psychological torments. So yeah, just read and tell me what you think :)**

* * *

**Chapter Four, Ticking Clock**

Harleen was vaguely aware of Derrick yelling behind her, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. She needed to get away. To hide. Escape.

Barely aware of her surroundings, Harleen ran through the Asylum, crashing through the double doors that separated staff facilities from the main part of the building. Here, major construction was being undergone. Everything was stripped bare, leaving only dark, dank concrete and the flickering of disconnected wires and blowtorches manned by grimy construction workers. Harleen could hear her feet smacking against the concrete floor as she ran.

Somehow, she found herself in a bathroom. The tiles, originally white, were grey and brown with grime, dirt and age. The tarnished mirror reflected the dim room, complete with the single, naked light bulb that hung from a chain. Harleen lunged up to the mirror, desperate to find some safety, some reassurance in the reflective surface.

There was none. All Harleen saw was her five year old self, complete with chubby face, twin blonde pigtails and too large, baby blue eyes. And then, right before her eyes, it all came back. All the horrible, painful days of her childhood.

* * *

"_Class, we have a new student today," Ms. Ferguson smiled at her rowdy troupe of kindergarteners, "She's only just moved to Gotham, so I expect you to all be super nice. Everybody, say hello to Harleen Quinzel."_

"_Hello Harleen." The class chorused back. Harleen didn't look at them though, preferring to hide by Ms. Ferguson's skirt. Her teacher looked down at her and just laughed._

"_Don't be shy," She said cheerfully, "None of them bite. You can go sit next to Michael."_

_The boy in question, a big lad with dark hair, turned to her as she sat down by him._

"_You got a stupid name." He said without preamble, smiling nastily._

_Harleen shrunk back, confused by such unprompted spite. _

"_No it's not!" She replied in a hurt tone, "My mummy says-"_

"_Harleen?" Ms. Ferguson paused in the middle of her lecture on basic addition, "Please don't talk when I am, it's very rude."_

_That was it. Ms. Ferguson didn't yell or threaten, but she didn't need to. Harleen liked school, and the prospect of being in trouble scared her senseless. Shutting her mouth, she gave Michael one last frightened look before bowing her head._

* * *

"I didn't do anything to him!" Harleen moaned, fresh tears trickling down her face, "It's not fair of him! Everyone always….Everyone…"

She couldn't finish, suddenly remembering what happened next.

* * *

_When lunchtime came, Harleen had mostly pushed the matter of Michael's meanness from mind. Skipping out onto the leaf covered playground, she looked around, gleefully taking in the swing-set and the playground. And then she saw a small group of girls nearby, playing jump rope. Harleen loved skipping, so she ran up to them._

"_Can I play please?" She asked politely, making sure she used her nicest smile. All the girls looked at each other, giggling before shaking their heads._

"_No way clown girl."_

_Harleen was upset and confused._

"_I'm not a clown girl!"_

_The lead girl, a tall African American wearing pink converse, sneered at her._

"_Yeah you are. Harley Quinn!" _

_Harleen realised she was being made fun of here, but she still didn't understand._

"_What do you mean?"_

_The girl snorted and turned around. She shouted to Michael, who was throwing rocks at a pigeon._

"_Michael!"_

_He came running over, leaving the pigeon looking relieved. When he saw Harleen, he stopped and began to laugh at her._

"_Clown girl!"_

_Harleen's bottom lip quivered and she clenched her fists._

"_Stop calling me that!" She yelled, "I don't even understand!"_

_Michael grinned malevolently._

"_Harleen Quinzel. Harley Quinn. Harlequin? That's a clown dummy!"_

_Harleen froze, suddenly understanding. She knew what a harlequin was; she had a picture of one on her bedroom wall. Her mummy had put it there, saying she should be able to see her namesake. Harleen hated that picture; clowns scared her._

"_I'm not a clown girl!" She repeated, not knowing what else to say, "I'm not-"_

"_Clown girl!" Michael cheered, "Harley Quinn!"_

_And then, all the kids on the playground were chanting it._

"_Harley Quinn!" They shouted and jeered, "She's a clown girl! Harley Quinn!"_

_Suddenly, Harleen hated her name, despised it. Not as much as she hated the kids before her though._

"_Stop it!" She screamed, tears flooding down her face, "I don't like it!"_

"_Harley Quinn! Harley Quinn!"_

"_STOP CALLING ME THAT!"_

"_-Quinn! Clown girl!"_

_Bawling and angry, Harleen ran from the playground._

* * *

"_-You could become Harley Quinn!"_

The Joker's words floated through her mind, mixing with the cruel taunts of the kids and echoing louder and louder until Harleen couldn't stand it anymore. Tearing her fingers through her hair, she began to howl.

"STOP IT!" She was shouting again, at the mirror this time. "JUST…STOP!"

There was no reprieve though and all Harleen could see was the Joker's horribly amused, scarred face, grinning at her. All she could hear was his taunts coupled with the laughter of the children all those years ago. She hated them, all of them. She'd always hated her name, and now it had reached a personal level like nothing before.

'_HARLEY QUINN!'_

"Noo!" She choked out from her hiccups, "I'm not…I don't…"

It was all too mixed up in her mind, a swirl of colours, sounds and laughter. Harleen gasped, trying to catch her breath beneath the onslaught. She didn't know _who_ she was, maybe she was Harley-

'_No!' _Some small, resilient part of her mind surfaced from the maelstrom suddenly, snarling in defiance, _'You are not Harley Quinn, you are Harleen Quinzel and you've just had a rough day!'_

Shaking from exhaustion and the tears, Harleen weakly turned the faucet on, watching the water gurgle down the dirty little sink. She noticed that her knuckles were turning white from gripping the stained porcelain so tightly. Gingerly, she removed her hands and cupped them beneath the water, splashing it onto her face sporadically.

"A rough day." She mumbled to herself out loud, not entirely convinced by the apparent vigour of what little sanity she had left, "I'm Harley…I mean, _Harleen_ Quinzel."

'_Exactly.' _That little sane voice agreed. It was far weaker then before though and Harleen thought she could hear the laughter back on the peripherals of her mind again.

Trying to ignore that uneasy thought, Harleen let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes for a moment, just happy to have a moment of pure, uninterrupted peace. After a moment of regaining her nerves, she opened her eyes and looked up to the mirror again.

She very nearly screamed out loud. For a split second, Harleen was certain she'd seen the Joker's reflection, right next to hers. There was nothing there now, but the panic remained. With trembling fingers, she reached out to touch the mirror. Nothing happened and suddenly, Harleen was angry with herself.

"What is wrong with you?" She demanded in annoyance, all too aware she was talking to herself, "You have one encounter with the Joker and all of a sudden, you're eligible to share a cell with him! Just get a hold of yourself!"

She paused, listening to her words echo into nothingness around the room. When nothing else happened, she sighed and looked at herself properly. If she'd thought she'd looked bad before her little run-in with the Joker, it was nothing to how she looked now.

Pallid skin. Dark shadows all around her eyes. Insanity glittering hidden in her expression. Harleen reluctantly had to admit she looked like total, undisputable shit. There was nothing to do about it though, so Harleen just shook her head and walked out of the bathroom, gingerly trying on a smile for size.

"Just keep on smiling Harley," She muttered to herself suddenly, walking towards Doctor Vahns' office.

* * *

"Harleen!" Doctor Vahns jumped from his seat to his feet when she walked into his office. "I've had everyone looking for you. Derrick said you went running from the room, and that he tried to talk to you."

Harleen grimaced, inwardly annoyed at Derrick. The man was kind and polite, but he seemed to think that just because he was secretly in love with her, he could try to act like her knight in shining armour.

"I was upset," she grudgingly admitted, "But I'm fine now."

Vahns gave her a doubtful look. She didn't look fine and truthfully, she wasn't either. However, Harleen gave wide smile and tried her best to look endearing.

"Really," she said sweetly, "I'm alright. A little shook-up maybe, but otherwise…"

Doctor Vahns sighed and sat back behind his desk. Noticing the expression on his face, it occurred to Harleen for the first time since meeting her mentor that he was getting old. Maybe too old for this sort of thing.

"So what happened?" He asked wearily.

Harleen frowned thoughtfully.

"Simply put? I wasn't prepared. I didn't…don't have any clue of just how…hmm, manipulative the Joker is. I assumed I could make him play my way, and I paid the price. I'll be ready next time."

"Next time?" Vahns sounded incredulous and he raised his brows, "You seriously want to go in for another round with that maniac?"

Harleen nodded.

"I do."

"Harleen," Vahns pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly struggling for words for a second, "You barely made it out in one piece this time. You're my most promising intern. You can not honestly expect me to risk your safety and potential by putting you against the Joker for a second round!"

Harleen resisted the urge to clench her fists. She needed to remain calm if her wishes were to be granted.

"Please," she said imploringly, "I know I'll do better next time. He got to me this time; I want to show him he's not as powerful as he thinks! I have the clearance, I have the training…let me put it to use!"

For a long moment, Doctor Vahns just studied Harleen minutely. Then, he shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief of his own foolishness.

"Alright Harleen." He sounded defeated. "I'll let you keep running this. I'm just worried you're making this into a personal case though."

"I'm not." Harleen promised, "Strictly professional."

Vahns nodded and Harleen turned to leave. Before she could do so however, he spoke up again.

"I don't suppose you remembered to ask the Joker how he sent an intruder to your house?"

Harleen winced and slowly turned back around.

"He sent Doctor Stevens."

"I know." Vahns said flatly. "I took the liberty of calling our friends in GCPD and sending them to your place. I know you probably won't thank me for intruding into your personal life, but I didn't know how long you'd be with the Joker and I know the sooner the police get to a crime scene, the better."

"I guess." Harleen was annoyed at her mentor stepping in where he wasn't wanted, but she also knew he was right. "Do you have any idea why he agreed to help the Joker and to kill himself?"

Doctor Vahns nodded unhappily.

"For the last six months, Stevens' work performance had been progressively worsening. His behaviour changed too, he became withdrawn and depressed. I think that maybe, the Joker picked up on this and began to mess with his mind, twist it, until poor Stevens was so impressionable, he'd do anything he was asked."

"Oh."

"That's what he does you know," Vahns told Harleen pointedly, "He twists people's minds and thoughts until they're not even the same person anymore. You should be careful."

Harleen gave a smile, trying not to release a hysterical giggle.

"Don't worry," she replied, a little too brightly, "I always am."

Vahns nodded and gestured for her to leave. Walking back down the hallway to her car, Harleen let herself give into the nervous giggles that were bubbling up behind her self-enforced wall of self-restraint.

She didn't stop laughing all the way home.

* * *

"Miss Quinzel?"

Harleen looked up from rummaging through her purse for her keys. To her slight surprise and annoyance, her apartment door was wide open and the whole area was abuzz with police officers, photographers and casual lookers on. A policewoman stood before her, brows raised when she didn't get an immediate response.

"Oh." Harleen blinked and refocused on the policewoman. "Sorry, just taken by surprise."

The woman smiled sympathetically.

"Not surprising. Doctor Vahns called us whilst you were at work and again once you'd left. He said you'd had a stressful…experience and that you might be a bit distracted when you came home."

Harleen narrowed her eyes and fixed the policewoman with a grumpy stare.

"Did he now?" She muttered, more to herself then out loud. "How…kind."

The other woman wasn't stupid, she heard the sourness in Harleen's voice. However, she also knew she had a job to do, so she chose to ignore it and beckon for Harleen to follow her into the apartment.

"We've got everything under control," She told Harleen, leading the way tactfully past the gory kitchen and into the living room, "But we still need to ask you a few questions. Commissioner Gordon will take care of that."

Harleen stopped dead in her tracks, brows flying up to a point just below her hairline.

"What?! The commissioner-"

At that point however, Gordon himself appeared from the kitchen, wearing forensic gear. He stripped off his gloves to shake hands with Harleen. She returned the gesture, albeit somewhat weakly.

"This seems a little excessive," Harleen said, by way of greeting, "I mean, I wasn't aware that Police Commissioners bothered with small time murders."

Gordon's eyes narrowed slightly, obviously picking up on the less then welcoming tone in Harleen's voice.

"Well, this is hardly 'small time'," He replied, a little defensively, "Considering this is the Joker we're talking about."

"Mmm." Harleen gave a non-committal sort of sound as a reply, not quite trusting herself to say the right thing. Something about Commissioner Gordon just put her on edge, made her feel like a child who's broken a vase and was nervously hoping that their parent would not discover the remains of it in their toy-chest.

"You were with him today." Gordon didn't make it a question. There was no need to. "Care to explain the motivation behind that?"

Harleen shot the man an irate glare.

"You make it sound like I was fraternising with him!" she snapped. "When actually, I was merely attempting a small investigation into some purely work related matters. It is my _job _to spend time with him, to try and get answers to certain questions!"

"Such as?"

Harleen, becoming increasingly frustrated at being treated like she'd done something wrong, laughed incredulously.

"You honestly think I'll answer that?" She demanded, "I'd lose my job! There _is _such a thing as doctor patient confidentiality!"

Gordon looked irritated, but to his credit, his voice remained level.

"Miss Quinzel, you must realise, we can not afford to take any chances here, not if the Joker's involved. I need to be able to gauge how much of a threat he is at present, and one way of me doing so is to investigate what influence the Joker is having on his immediate surroundings."

Harleen suddenly realised that quite a few of the officers were starting to eavesdrop on their conversation, intrigued by the increasingly hostile exchange between their boss and the woman whose apartment they were currently in. Gritting her teeth, she carefully lowered her voice and turned back to Gordon.

"I suggest you talk to Doctor Vahns then," she said, voice shaking from the effort of remaining polite, "Or even Director Banks. He's currently in charge of all maximum security patients. I will advise you get some sort of court order or mandate from the DA however; neither Vahns nor Banks are avid supporters of your administration at present. Not after the Dimengo case."

Commissioner Gordon grimaced. The Dimengo case had fouled relationships between the Asylum and Police Department considerably. A patient named Jose Dimengo had been admitted to Arkham after being granted the title 'criminally insane' after his bloody slaying of a mother and her two children. Barely two months after his admittance to Arkham, both Director Banks and Vahns had called for Jose's removal. They claimed his insanity plea was a mistake, that he showed no signs of being mentally unstable. At the time however, Gotham jails were overflowing with similar maximum security prisoners and Gordon had ordered that Jose was to remain in Arkham. As a result, Jose escaped (proving once and for all he was in total control of his mental faculties), killing two doctors and one nurse in the process. He was shot to death by police a week later when he tried to turn a robbery into a hostage situation.

Gordon knew that Harleen was being deliberately hostile now, he gave her a glare.

"Are you honestly telling me that you'd allow something like Doctor Stevens' death in your own home, to go without investigation, just to protect the privacy of someone like the Joker?!"

Harleen gave a brittle smile.

"Are _you _telling _me _that you'd let me lose my job for breaching protocol, just so you can cut investigative corners?"

There was a long silence. Neither of them was willing to say anything, knowing that they were guilty of exactly what the other claimed. Eventually, Harleen stirred. She realised she was really pushing things here and that the last thing she needed to do was make an enemy of the Police Commissioner. After all, say the Joker _did_ escape Arkham and _did_ come after her; she would need Gordon's help. Even if she really was starting to despise the man.

"Look, I'm sorry." She sighed, "I've had a long day and I'm taking it out on the wrong people."

Gordon relaxed a little, although his eyes didn't lose their wary expression.

"I can understand," he told her, "I'm no saint either when something ugly like this occurs. I don't think its easy going for anyone to have a person commit suicide in their apartment and then have to go talk to the psychopath that talked them into doing it."

"Oh, so Vahns let you in on his theory as to why Stevens did what he did?" Harleen asked, a little stiffly. She'd just made a big deal out of doing the right thing and respecting her work protocols, and yet Vahns, a senior Doctor, had gone and blown protocol right out of the water by releasing personnel information that should have been highly protected. She wondered if he'd said anything about her.

"He felt it would assist out investigation," Gordon replied, a little coolly as he sensed her disapproval, "And it has. There really isn't much more for us to do now, mostly just cleaning up and paperwork."

"So I'll have my apartment back soon?" Harleen brightened a little. Her cheer was quickly quashed however when Gordon half shrugged.

"Not tonight I'm afraid," he said bluntly, "I can't give an accurate estimation how long we'll be here right now, but two days at least."

Harleen felt like screaming out of pure frustration. She'd had the mother of all bad days, all she wanted was to collapse in her bed and sleep all her stress off. Yet, she couldn't even do that!

"Fine." She gave up on being polite. "I'll stay in a hotel for tonight. I'll just need to pack some possessions."

Gordon nodded.

"We'll pay for the hotel," he said, "And you can ask one of the female officers to help you pack if you want."

Harleen glared at the Commissioner.

"One of the female officers?" she repeated, "You think this is a 'girl's job'?"

Gordon didn't rise to the bait; he shook his head slowly and replied in a totally calm, level voice.

"Not at all, I merely assumed you would feel more comfortable with a female officer. By all means, feel free to ask one of the men. You have my apologies for leading you to false conclusions."

Harleen, furious at being bested once more, just spared Gordon a withering look before storming off to her room.

* * *

Gordon watched Harleen Quinzel storm off, shaking his head. One of the nearby cops, George Leslie looked up at him.

"Was she a real bitch?" He asked, pausing briefly to photograph a trail of blood that led from the front door to the kitchen. Gordon scowled at him.

"That's inappropriate language to be using in a professional environment George," he reprimanded his forensic photographer, "And no, she wasn't. She's just… Well, she'd had a very bad day for one thing."

"Oh yeah, you can tell." George grinned, handing his camera to one of his aides. He walked up to Gordon, suddenly sombre. "Seriously though, I don't like the look of her."

Gordon knew that this sort of thing was not far from gossip, but George's hunches about people were often very shrewd. He'd been right about things like this before.

"Really?"

George nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. He was a wiry man who looked older then his thirty-eight years.

"Well, she just strikes me as…unstable I guess is the word I'm looking for."

Gordon shot his friend a sharp, warning look.

"Arkham puts all their employees through strict psychological screening. I'm sure that if Harleen was unstable, she would have been rejected for her intern's position."

"Maybe," George was unconvinced, that much was obvious. "But I look at Miss Quinzel and I just picture a little clock, ticking along until something goes boom."

Gordon realised he felt the same way. However, he had no right in acting upon mere 'hunches', so he shook his head and frowned at George.

"I'll keep that in mind George," he said bluntly, "But she's done nothing wrong and she's had a very rough time lately, so I think that for now, this should be the end of this discussion."

George nodded, unwilling to push the matter if Gordon had made his mind up.

"Yes sir."

* * *

Harleen was angrily stuffing clothing and toiletries into her suitcase (it was the only one she had, and it was pitifully small) when there was a light knock at her open door.

Looking up, she saw a female officer hovering uncertainly.

"I thought you might need some help."

Harleen exhaled crankily, determined not to take her temper out on the woman.

"I'm alright thanks." She said carefully, "But you can stay if you want."

The woman seemed to understand it was sympathetic company Harleen was after, because she smiled cautiously and walked into Harleen's room. She sat on the edge of her bed.

"Rough night…Morning?"

"Yeah." Harleen replied wearily, trying to stuff her toiletries bag into her tiny bag. "Most definitely."

There was an awkward silence and then the policewoman spoke up.

"My name's Ramirez." She offered. Harleen froze and looked up at her.

"Aren't you-?"

Ramirez grimaced and gave an ashamed sort of nod.

"Yeah. I guess you read my name in the paper?"

Harleen felt guilty for making Ramirez embarrassed. The whole situation was awkward enough, what with Harleen being several years younger then her caretaker and yet the one making orders.

'Um, yeah. I never thought badly of you though."

Ramirez grimaced again.

"Don't," she asked, "It's…Well, it's history now. Gordon gave me a formal pardon and let me keep my job. I'd rather just forget it all."

"Oh, of course." Harleen nodded quickly, "Sorry, I just…yeah. Fair enough. So, where am I going after this? I presume when Gordon said the Police Department would pay for a hotel, he didn't have the Gotham Four Seasons in mind or anything?"

"Um, not quite." Ramirez smiled. "There's a standard place we send people to. It's not exactly luxurious, but it's close to where you work."

"Hey, I live in the freaking Narrows," Harleen laughed, feeling like crying again suddenly, "_Anything_ is more luxurious then here."

* * *

"Told you so." Harleen giggled smugly, looking around her hotel room. Whilst it was small and a little Spartan as far as decorations went, it was perfectly clean and it even had its own little kitchenette. Not that Harleen intended on using it; she was a terrible cook and besides, Gordon had also offered to pay any food expenses whilst she was displaced from her apartment.

Ramirez laughed as well.

"Well, so long as you're happy. I'm afraid I have to go back to work now; will you be alright?"

Harleen laughed again, gesturing to her surroundings.

"Oh I think so."

Ramirez studied her thoughtfully though.

"I'll leave my card anyway." She told Harleen, feeling like an older sister suddenly. "Female solidarity and all that. Just call if you need anything at all."

Harleen knew she should appreciate the thought behind the gesture, yet she couldn't help but think that the only reason Ramirez was bothering was that she wanted to look as good as possible after her corruption coming to light.

"Sure." She replied eventually, forcing herself to smile in return as she accepted the card from Ramirez. "I'll do that."

* * *

**Well, here's my questions for you:**

**1) I was thinking of creating a sort of working relationship between Ramirez and Harleen. They may not especially like each other, but they know they have things to gain from remaining allies. Do you guys like that idea?**

**2) Do you want to see the appearances of any other villains? I didn't have it planned, but if there's a character you guys would especially like to see, I'd consider including them. No Harvey Dent though. Sorry, but he's dead and gone. Never liked him much anyway :p**

**Also, on a side note, Batman will be appearing soon-ish. So for all you Bruce Wayne/Batman lovers, not to fear, he will appear!**

**...I just rhymed. How funny :P**


	5. Chapter 5

_I don't know why, but I feel like in this chapter, things start to take on a slightly more creepy and unnerving feel...Maybe it's just the way I imagined this chapter in my mind... Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Five, First Blood**

Somehow, despite the events of the past day or so, Harleen managed to sleep for a solid eight hours. When she woke, she showered and ironed her work uniform. A new day, coupled with a decent amount of sleep and a new perspective had left her much calmer.

And much more strong-minded. Harleen had been soundly defeated by the Joker, she accepted that. However, she'd come out in one piece (more or less), and this time, she was determined to get back in the ring and start dealing her own blows. She knew she probably couldn't defeat the man (she honestly wondered if anyone could), but she thought that maybe; she could at least force them into an even footing. It seemed a reasonable enough hope, even if it wasn't strictly possible.

What she'd do after that wasn't exactly clear, but hers was a long term enough goal that Harleen was comfortable with her lack of extensive planning. She figured she'd probably end up making it up as she went anyway. She'd already learnt the hard way that it was useless trying to scheme and make plans where the Joker was concerned. All that came from them was seeing the Joker's malicious delight in tearing your plans apart and then maybe you as well. Harleen guessed that at the moment, the best she could do was go in today with a general idea of what she was doing and do her best not to end up repeating yesterday's mini-meltdown.

As she ironed her uniform, Harleen realised she was humming under her breath. After a further three seconds, she recognised it as 'Hard Days Night', by the Beatles. She stopped and frowned, wondering why that particular song had occurred to her. Normally, Harleen hated all sixties music; it reminded her entirely too much of her psychotic mother, who'd played such music non-stop and had been unkind enough to give her the name 'Harleen', a permanent burden to bear.

Feeling the usual resentment mixed with grudging adoration for her mother, Harleen sighed and put her freshly ironed uniform on. She hated putting it on so soon after ironing it; she hated the overly warm and clinging sensation of the scrubs against her skin. There was no other choice though, not unless she wanted to wait for the clothing to cool down, and miss her desired early arrival at Arkham. It seemed such a stupid reason to miss the opportunity to catch the Joker unawares. Harleen was certain he wouldn't be expecting her to return so soon, if at all.

But then, Harleen had always taken great joy in proving people wrong.

* * *

As much as she had expected it, it was still an annoyance to be summoned to Doctor Vahns' office. Harleen had harboured the unrealistic hope that she would be able to creep through the halls to her office, and from there to see the Joker, without being brought in. As she'd known from the beginning, absurd.

"You asked to see me, sir?" She tried to sound innocently perplexed, as if she hadn't the faintest idea as to why her mentor would be so insistent on an audience with her.

As far as ploys went, it was pitiful. Vahns gave her a look that quite obviously showed his incredulity she would even stoop so low as to attempt so pathetic a ruse.

"Yes I did, and you know perfectly well why. At least, you should."

Harleen chewed her bottom lip, considering her options for a moment. She could continue to lie her way through this meeting and hope for the best. It was, shamefully enough, an enticing option. Harleen knew she had a talent for untruths, for acting. However, this wasn't her brother or one of her very few friends she was lying to, it was one of Gotham's best psychoanalytical minds, _trained_ to spot lies.

Harleen gave a faint, disgruntled sort of sigh.

'_Oh God, I may as well just let him have his ego trip…'_

"Yes sir," she said, not quite able to work all of the unwillingness out of her voice, "I suppose I do. My, um, interview with the Joker."

There was a brief pause after that. Harleen took advantage of it, realising how awkward retelling all of this was going to be. She wanted badly to say 'yesterday', or 'last night', but she couldn't. It'd been today technically, just quite a few hours previously.

"Yes, that's it." Doctor Vahns nodded. "I just wanted to raise a few points with you."

"What's there to 'raise'?" Harleen demanded, the sudden fear that her authorization to work with the Joker would be revoked, "We discussed this before; I'm better able for being exposed to him now."

"I know that!" Vahns snapped defensively, not liking the flash of temper from Harleen. It reminded him of a feral dog, standing with its hackles raised whilst it growled it's ownership over a slab of meat. "I just wanted to reiterate the need for caution; He's been unpleasant in the last few hours. Well, more so then usual anyway."

"Is he under increased security?"

"No." Vahns was clearly unhappy about that. "For one thing, we're short staffed. The flu is doing its rounds through staff again; we're down three orderlies and two doctors. Secondly, the Joker's decided to relieve his boredom by playing a new, rather annoying game."

"That is?" Harleen asked, surprised by the intensity of her curiosity. Vahns pressed his lips together in grim irritation and shot her a pointed look.

"He says he refuses to speak to anyone but you now," he said, making his belief that the Joker was falsely informed of Harleen's importance obvious, "And that if he doesn't see you at least once a day, he will harm either staff or himself. God knows why he's doing this, but he is."

Harleen stared at her mentor in silent horror, her heart catching in her throat.

'_The bastard! He knows how hard it is to remain sane and rational in his presence; he's doing this to see how long it takes me to snap!'_

"Obviously, you don't have to conform to his demands," Vahns went on, not noticing his trainee's suddenly pallid expression, "In fact, I'd rather it if you didn't; the amount of hours that such a commitment would generate would mean I'd be forced to stretch the budget even thinner to accommodate your new role…"

Well, that set Harleen off.

"And say I _did_ wish to undertake this assignment?" She demanded immediately, inwardly horrified she was even considering doing such a foolish thing.

"Well, as I just said, I'd be forced to stretch the budget." Vahns replied, grinding his teeth angrily. "So I'll take that as a 'yes' then?"

Harleen gave a falsely bright and innocent smile.

"I'll see the Joker in Room Three today."

Vahns gave her a decidedly sour look by way of response.

* * *

'_Screw him!' _Harleen thought savagely, as she sat at the cold, metal table waiting for the Joker, _'The Joker's __**my**__ case, the best fucking one I've ever had, and he wants to take it off me?! Screw him!'_

Just then, Harleen heard the door behind her buzz open and the sound of footsteps, so she quickly wiped the anger and defensiveness from her expression. After a few moments, the Joker materialised before her. She stayed silent, watching the orderlies place the deranged man in his restraints. Harleen couldn't help but giggle when she saw the extra attention they paid to his handcuffs this time. Typical, someone had to actually be put into danger before people started worrying about it.

At the sound of her laughter, the Joker looked up sharply. For a split second, polite disbelief furrowed his brow, as if he couldn't quite comprehend the humour of the situation. Then, he too gave a small giggle, face suddenly split by a wide smile. The two of them sat opposite one another, sharing a brief, bizarre moment of camaraderie. The orderlies glanced uneasily between the pair, quite obviously perturbed by the bond. There was nothing to be done about it however, they quickly left the room.

As the door swung shut behind the orderlies however, silence once more engulfed the room and the hilarity and closeness faded. The smiles remained, but only for the purpose for concealing the hostility and calculating that both had in their arsenal of metaphoric weapons.

"Surprised to see me again?" Harleen inquired politely, with a subtle bite to her tone. The Joker seemed to delight in her newly found courage and ferociousness.

"Nope." He seemed to smack his lips on the last syllable. His smile grew as he allowed an uncertain quiet to prosper briefly. Harleen raised her brows quizzically at him, proud that she found the silence intriguing rather then fearsome.

"I'm, uh, I'm a hard man to surprise." The Joker explained, earnest except for the derisively amused grin plastered over his face. "Mildly upset maybe, but uh, not surprise."

"I see." Harleen muttered, ego deflating a little. So far, her courage wasn't having quite the effect she'd hoped for; the Joker still seemed completely at ease and more importantly, in control.

"Sooo," The Joker playfully batted his eyes at her, "How'd you sleep, miss Harrrrley Quinn?"

Harleen swallowed, feeling the Joker's words strike her like blows straight to the gut.

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?" The Joker's expression was a terrible facsimile of innocent confusion. "Harley Quinn?"

"Yes!" Harleen only just stopped herself from snapping out the word. "That! Please don't call me that."

"But that's who you are, Harl'," The Joker said sweetly, "Whether or not you like it."

"Fine." Harleen bit back the frustrated snarl in her voice. She knew that at this point, fighting was going to achieve nothing. "But only if we agree on a quid pro quo. If you're going to call me something different, then I get to choose a price."

The Joker narrowed his eyes.

"What makes you think I'll agree to that?"

"Because," Harleen said slowly, not believing what she was about to do, "If you don't, I'll leave now and not come back."

There was a long, tense silence in which both of them stayed very still, taken aback by the threat. Harleen kept her eyes pinned on the Joker, heart thumping painfully. Hers was a dangerous venture; if the Joker called her bluff, she would destroy any further chances she had of getting any information at all from him. Harleen was gambling on the hopes that the Joker wanted her more then he'd given hint to so far. If not, he would simply laugh and let her walk out of the room without so much as a single word.

'_Come on,'_ Harleen silently pleaded, _'Say something… Say anything you son of a bitch!'_

Suddenly, the Joker stirred. A furious expression flitted across his face, but it was wiped away before Harleen quite had the opportunity to gauge its depths. The Joker replaced his anger with a carefully neutral sort of frown and that was when Harleen suddenly knew she'd won this particular battle. The realisation lent her an almost overwhelming elation; she only just managed not to let the smugness show on her face. To do so would almost certainly reverse what she'd just achieved.

"See, this is why I think I like you more then Batsy." The Joker said, his voice light and amused. Harleen saw the dark fury in his eyes though. "You know how to play the game properly. He never knows how, he always thinks that he can win through brute force alone."

Harleen didn't reply to that remark, determined to remain on track.

"So, you'll agree to my system then? For every demand you make of me, I do the same?"

"It depends on the demand in question, doesn't it?"

Harleen released a sigh of pent-up frustration.

"Fine, if that's what it takes you to cooperate…"

"Cooperate?" The Joker laughed suddenly, "I'm not cooperating! I'm, uh, I'm merely relieving my boredom. You're awfully entertaining after all."

Harleen ground her teeth, angry at how she didn't seem to be getting anywhere with the Joker. She took a moment briefly to rein her temper in before deciding that maybe Batman technique of brute force might actually come in handy here, in a manner of speaking.

"Okay, forget my name;" she said bluntly, "I want to know why you're refusing to speak to anyone but me."

"Because," The Joker drew the word out, "I can see a little resemblance of me in you."

"What?" Harleen asked, shrinking back in disgust, "I don't think so! I don't kill people, I don't…I'm not the one sitting in a padded cell in Arkham!"

The Joker laughed at her expression of horror, delighted by her defensiveness.

"But you could," he pointed out, between giggles, "That's just it; you haven't done these things, but you could."

Harleen suddenly realised that she was shaking from fear. She could feel her heart racing in her chest.

"You see," The Joker was thoughtful now, dark brown eyes losing some of their malevolent gleam and gaining an indecipherable depth, "You have chaos in you. Trust me, I know. I'm good at seeing these, uh, these sorts of things. You have the ability to be just like me in you Harley, and it's not as far beneath your surface as you'd like to think."

Harleen ignored the immediate stab of pain that the name 'Harley' brought and fought her fear, her misery and anger back under control.

"So you're playing with me then?" She queried, managing to sound impressively detached, like the psychoanalyst she was supposed to be "To see what it takes to make me get in touch with my…my 'bad side', as it were?"

"Yep."

"It won't work." Harleen replied immediately, wondering why it felt like she reassuring herself more then the Joker, "It just won't. You may be right about me having the potential to be like you, but that doesn't mean I will. I'm perfectly capable of self-control, unlike you."

"Mhm," The Joker sounded like he was merely humouring her now, "That's what they all say. Now, tell me Harl', are you feeling the pressure of keeping me locked up yet?"

"No." Harleen responded politely, glad at least this part was true. "And I don't expect I will. I'd like to think I'm too rational a person to suddenly develop the urge to unleash a mass killing psychopath on the city."

"You'd like to think." The Joker repeated, amused by that statement for some reason. "Sure."

There was another pause, but it was different this time. It was always different with the Joker, Harleen had found. She supposed it stopped him from becoming boring at least. It was about the only good thing she could say about him, apart from the fact that he at least didn't seem to lie to her very much, if at all.

"Why'd you kill Doctor Stevens?" She asked suddenly, as she wondered how long the police would be in her apartment.

The Joker frowned playfully.

"Technically, he killed himself. It's not very nice to accuse me of things I didn't do."

Harleen grimaced, realising how precise and thoughtful you had to be to get any answers from this man.

"Alright, why did you manipulate him into killing himself in my apartment?"

"He deserved it." The Joker replied shortly. "Apparently, according to him, I hate people and that's why I kill them."

That one got Harleen. She heard the hurt and indignation in the Joker's voice, and somehow knew it was genuine. How very interesting.

"And that's not the case?" She asked, slightly disbelieving.

The Joker gave her an annoyed glare.

"No, it's not. I actually don't hate people, no matter what labels like 'sociopath' you toss at me. I, uh, I just like seeing people squirm more then I like seeing them happy. That doesn't necessarily mean I _hate_ all people though."

Harleen said nothing, partly from incredulity, partly because she didn't know how to react to such a statement anyway.

"It's like…" The Joker stopped a moment to consider his words. "Like an author, right? They create their pet character, their storybook baby. So, if they're a good writer, they don't just sit there nurturing them. Nope, they send them into bad situation after bad situation, to see how they react. That's what I do, I love people… society, whatever. Sooo, I like thinking up nice little life and death scenarios to see how they…to see what they do."

Harleen saw one small flaw in that logic. At the back of her mind, it struck her as ethically wrong she didn't see more.

"Yes, but an author _owns_ their character, it's theirs, so they have the right to do what they want."

The Joker tutted, as if he were dealing with a slow child who didn't quite grasp the idea he was explaining.

"You think Gotham isn't mine?"

Harleen nodded, secretly intrigued by this glimpse into the Joker's mind.

"Well, you're wrong." The Joker said flatly. "Gotham belongs to someone, it always does. It, uh, it used to be Batman, but then, I came along. I might be in here now, but if I were to get out and issue a, uh, a proclamation that Gotham was mine once more, I can tell you now, Harley, that it would be. No one would be able to stop me."

Harleen felt sick, shaken to her very core. There was no doubt or amusement in the Joker's voice now. Even his usual smile, present even in his misery (whatever that may be), was gone. There was nothing but cold, cruel certainty in the man's voice.

"W-what about Batman?" She whispered, suddenly desperate to know there was something, _someone_, who could fight the Joker. Surely the man wasn't totally invincible?

"Oh, he might try." The Joker allowed, thinking about it, "It'd be interesting…But, Gotham's turned its back on Batsy… Not very fair actually, as he didn't do anything to deserve that."

"What?" Harleen was angry now, remembering the news footage of Batman's disgrace, "He killed Harvey Dent!"

"Did he?" The Joker smirked now; obviously smug that he had a secret to bring to bear against Gotham as a whole, "Now doesn't that strike you as terribly illogical, hmm? He doesn't kill _me_, his ultimate nemesis, but he kills Dent, his white knight chum…"

That did strike Harleen as odd. She paused, uncertain how to progress along that train of thought. She turned back to the Joker, meaning to ask for more. He saw her questioning expression though and shook his head.

"Much as I like you Harley," he giggled, "I'm not giving that little…that little joke up yet. I'm going to need it, later on."

Harleen didn't pay too much attention to the second part of that statement, too surprised by the first half. A mistake as it happened.

"You should probably go home." The Joker said suddenly, "I'm getting bored. I get violent when I'm bored."

Harleen glared.

"I'm not finished!" She snapped, angered by how such a productive session was suddenly ended, "I'm not going-"

Then, to Harleen's absolute shock and terror, the Joker leapt to his feet. The restraints that should have kept his legs pinioned clattered to the ground, useless. Harleen gave a scream and backed away quickly as the Joker lunged towards her, a crazy grin on his face. He didn't need his paints to terrorise; all it took was a smile.

Harleen darted for the door, but the Joker was faster. Before she was even halfway there, he's blocked her path. Obviously enjoying himself, the Joker quickly pushed both the table and chairs up against the door. His strength scared Harleen; she knew that the table was solid steel and designed to be extraordinarily heavy, to stop things exactly like this from happening.

"N-no!" Harleen stuttered, backing away further as the Joker turned back to her, "I'll g-go…I just…"

The Joker laughed. It seemed so unfair that even in handcuffs, he was still unstoppable.

"Now now Harl' darlin', lets be rational. I gave you the chance to do as I asked, and you ignored me. That wasn't polite, and I was polite to _you_…until now of course, but this is only fair."

Harleen whimpered and tried to think through the blur of terror that had engulfed her mind. As the Joker drew closer, she instinctively lashed out at him. The Joker caught her fist easily and before Harleen had the chance to scream again, the Joker had his arms around her, simultaneously pinning her arms to her side and squeezing her throat painfully.

"You're being annoying Harley." he grunted, seemingly not even noticing the fact that she was putting every bit of her strength into trying to get free. She was terrified by how useless her efforts were, by how his face was pressed against hers. "I'm merely teaching you something here. It's not even a, uh, hard lesson…I just need your attention. Do I have it?"

Harleen whimpered and nodded as best as she could, considering the Joker was practically strangling her. He smiled.

"Good." He said. "Now here's the thing…You're a schemer, don't deny it."

Harleen hadn't been intending to do anything of the sort, but she nodded again regardless. Satisfied, the Joker continued.

"You know I make a habit of messing with schemers… Look what happened last time. Anyway, here's the thing… You seem to think you can win here. You can't; you either play _my_ game, _my_ way, or not at all and I'm telling you now, if you don't play my game…"

The Joker paused, noticing the pale, nauseous expression on Harleen's face. He grinned wider, almost reassuringly.

"Well, it's up to you, but I don't recommend that course of action."

"Please…" Harleen tried not to whimper, she knew it only incited the Joker further. "Let me go."

The Joker looked at her appraisingly, an odd, unfathomable expression in his eyes and face.

"Just like Carla." He murmured, suddenly paying Harleen no attention.

Taking advantage of this lapse, Harleen squirmed just enough that she was able to produce a pen from her pocket. Acting out of fear and adrenalin, she tried to stab the Joker with the pen. Unfortunately, the only part of him she could reach was his shoulder. Whilst the pen was doubtlessly painful embedded there, it was hardly incapacitating.

"Sneaky." The Joker noted, thoughtlessly pulling the pen from his flesh. He pushed Harleen away roughly, eyeing her anew. "Not nice though."

"You wouldn't let me go!" Harleen wondered why she was begging for forgiveness from this man. "I had to!"

Just then, Harleen realised there was pounding and scraping at the door. There had been for a few minutes now, she'd just been too distracted to notice. Guards on the other side had pushed the obstacles of the chairs and table far enough from the door that they were able to train their weapons through the gap. They kept a close aim on the Joker.

"It's ok!" Harleen called in a panic, fearing how the Joker would react if he felt cornered, "Everything's fine! The situation's…under control!"

"Of course it is." The Joker mocked spitefully, standing against the opposite wall, putting his hand up to where he bled slightly, causing a dark, damp patch to appear on his Asylum provided shirt. He held his hand up for Harleen to see after a moment or two, letting her see the blood that covered his fingers. "Completely under control."

Harleen felt sick, like she was getting the flu. Her stomach twisted painfully at the sight of her tormentor's blood and pain and she trembled from the fear that he would retaliate. She moved over to where the guards were breaking through the door. She could hear a drill; they seemed to have tired of pushing against the table and had decided to just remove the door from its hinges altogether.

"You made me do it." She whispered, trying not to cry suddenly. She hated how the bastard always destroyed her, left her in tears. It wasn't fair! Harleen was so strong normally, she hadn't even cried at her father's funeral. Now she was reduced to this… "I didn't want to, but you wouldn't let go of me!"

The Joker didn't reply, choosing to stay where he was as the door suddenly fell back and two guards bounded in, weapons at the ready. Harleen turned to them quickly, grateful to avoid the dark, brooding rage that was building in the Joker's eyes.

"It's ok," She said hurriedly, before they tried to do anything, "I caused this…He didn't do anything."

The guards were long time employees of Arkham Asylum; they knew both the Joker and Harleen Quinzel. So, they knew that neither of them would willingly lie in this regard.

"Alright," the senior one, an ex-police officer nodded, "But I think that's enough for today, don't you?"

"Yes." Harleen said quietly, like a frightened child. As she walked out of the room, accompanied by one the guards (the other stayed behind to watch the Joker), she cast one last look over her shoulder at the Joker. He smiled nastily and slowly, deliberately put his bloodied hand up to his lips and drew it across his mouth. The effect was grotesque, a horrible imitation of his normal lipstick. Harleen shuddered and turned away.

* * *

With every step away from the Joker, Harleen's anger grew. The whole thing had been a disaster, and one that could have been avoided! For starters, the Joker should not have been able to get out of his leg restraints! Harleen suddenly stopped in her tracks; turning to the guard she walked with.

"I need to talk to Director Banks," she told the man, "Now."

* * *

Women were rare in Arkham Asylum. Whilst they often did make highly skilled and intuitive Doctors, working in the Asylum also presented a dangerous environment physically speaking, the likes of which was often too intimidating or difficult for female staff to cope with. So, Harleen's presence in the Asylum was a near-first. One that Director Banks was very supportive of, as it turned out. Harleen had had no idea, having never had reason to meet the Director before.

"You're Harleen Quinzel, right?" He was surprisingly young; most of the senior staff such as him were in their fifties at least. Banks however looked to be in his mid-thirties, if that. He was fairly attractive too, with hazel eyes and light brown hair.

"Yes." Harleen blinked; a little taken-in by the way he simply exuded charisma and charm. Banks smiled blindingly, making her sure that his teeth had been seen to by a skilled orthodontist at some point.

"Hello then. What can I do for you?"

Harleen grimaced.

"Quite a bit. I just had a session with the Joker."

Something flickered into life in Banks' eyes. Unease perhaps.

"Yes?"

Harleen felt her anger trickle back into her system.

"He got out of his restraints. This is the second time this has happened! It's unacceptable, I could have been killed! I know that by working here, I was always going to face physical threats, especially as I'm female and not as strong, but this is ridiculous! The orderlies are meant to prevent this sort of thing."

Director Banks seemed to be equally upset by this, if his angry scowl was anything to go by.

"You're right," he muttered, "This is ridiculous. I'll have a word with the guys in question. Are you alright for now though?"

"I think so." Harleen sighed, "But you might want to send a medic or something to the Joker… I sort of stabbed him with a pen."

Banks' brows shot up.

"Should I even ask?"

"Probably not." Harleen said tiredly. There was long pause before something occurred to Harleen. "Do we know any of his previous contacts?"

Banks shrugged.

"I can't remember off the top of my head. You should take his file out and have a read…Your clearance is enough for that now. Why do you ask?"

"He mentioned someone named Carla." Harleen said, remembering the sudden distance in the Joker's expression as he'd mentioned the name, "The name's familiar for some reason…"

"Go over the file." Banks repeated, suddenly getting to his feet, "And report back to me. I have to go do something now. Take the rest of today off, the Joker said he only expects you once a day, that gives you time to eat and sleep and go over his file."

Harleen nodded, as if considering what good advice she was being given. Truthfully though, she intended to only follow one part of it.

* * *

Arkham Asylum was an enormous building. So, it was possible to store patient files onsite, in the huge, musty room known as Archives. Harleen was only able to find the Joker's file so quickly because one of the aides was able to lead her to it directly.

Completely unsurprisingly, the Joker's file was enormous. So big in fact, an entire filing briefcase was needed to contain the pounds upon pounds of paper. Harleen nearly fell off the stool she was standing on to reach the briefcase because of the weight. Staggering, she just managed to climb down and dump her trophy on a nearby table. Feeling suddenly ill at ease, she opened the case.

The first thing she looked at was the folder titled 'Initial Report'. This was just a brief anecdote really, given within hours of the patient being admitted to the Asylum.

**'Subject refuses to give any name or other alias beyond 'Joker'. Resisted removal of costume paints aggressively, leaving one female nurse in tears and another orderly with a fatal laceration to the throat (subject had not yet been searched and therefore was able to conceal weaponry). Appears hysterical, laughing endlessly and apparently without control. Is extremely unpredictable and dangerous, seemingly switching between rage and amusement without warning. Subject has already shown symptoms of schizophrenia and severe psychopathy (aggressive behaviour, pathological lying, lack of empathy and remorse). Administration of sedatives recommended.'**

Harleen shivered, and not just from the cold. She'd never been told that the Joker had killed Arkham staff. Maybe it was something Doctor Stevens had previously tried to keep concealed? Shaking her head slowly, Harleen turned to the next report. It had the title 'Preliminary Psychological Assessment'.

**'Subject underwent the first of a system of psychological assessments today. In this case, subject went through Hare's Psychopathy Checklist-Revised (PCL-R). Subject scored high on both Factors One and Two, indicating psychopathy as opposed to mere Anti-Social Disorder. Plan of treatment has been modified accordingly.'**

Well, no surprises there. Harleen knew the Joker was psychopathic; it didn't take a genius to figure that out. As interesting (and frightening) as all this was, it wasn't what Harleen was searching for. She resumed digging through the folders and loose piles of papers and reports. Another caught her eye. It was untitled and incomplete.

**'-Has shown substantial levels of resistance to sedatives and anti-psychotics. Subject has also demonstrated almost abnormal strength and agility. Has thus far proven to be an extremely difficult patient to keep under control. Some new hopes of restraint have been given with the substantial donation towards a new cell, provided by Wayne Enterprises.'**

Harleen frowned. Wayne Enterprises was enormous and branched into many different areas, but it still perplexed her that it was involved with the Asylum, and more specifically, the Joker. Tossing the confusing article aside, she finally found what she'd been searching for: the basic patient profile.

**Name: **_As yet unknown._

**Aliases: **_'The Joker'_

**Age: **_34 yrs_

**Race: **_Caucasian/White_

**Sex: **_Male_

**Height: **_5 foot eleven inches_

**Weight: **_163 pounds_

**Security Status: **_Max-Sec (Maximum Security)_

**Main disorders: **_Psychopathic/Sado-masochism/Paranoid Schizophrenia/Possible Sociopathy_

**Supervising Therapist/s: **_Doctor Stevens (overseen by Director Banks)_

**Brief History: **_Was arrested by vigilante Batman (see separate file) after mass attacks on Gotham City and its citizens. Found to be responsible for the murders of Rachel Dawes, Gillian B. Loeb (former police commissioner) and Judge Surillo. Also found to be responsible for the attempted murder of Gotham DA, Harvey Dent (now deceased/see Batman file), James Gordon (current police commissioner)._ _Strong connections have been found between subject and past, previously unsolved crimes (see police file on the 'Mariwck Case')._

**Known contacts: **_Outside of his band of 'henchmen' (known commonly as 'the clowns'), the subject has proven to be elusive to track in terms of past contacts. At this point, the only contact known is Carla Bertrepp (deceased/see file). _

"There!" Harleen breathed, seeing the name 'Carla'. Ignoring her surprise at the Joker's age (he was far younger then she'd imagined), she quickly tore through the briefcase, searching frantically for the file titled the same. Then, to her surprise and secret pride, she found a copy of her own entry report. Idly, she flicked through it. Then, it hit her, where she'd seen the name 'Carla' before. Right here, in her own handwriting.

"Oh God..." Harleen said quietly, suddenly remembering. "Carla…"

* * *

Carla Bertrepp was thought to have been the Joker's first kill. Whilst nothing certain had been found (the police suspected the Joker himself had destroyed a lot of evidence), it was strongly held that Carla had attended college with the Joker, and that the two of them had formed a bond of sorts (there was no evidence to either confirm nor deny anything of a romantic nature). However, it seemed that the Joker was a bad influence and a criminal even then, because a string of robberies and muggings erupted on the college grounds.

Here, things became even more indistinct. The working theory that the police were using was that Carla had come forward to turn her friend, the Joker, in as the culprit along with a band of other students who supposedly had formed a sort of 'gang' around him (the precursors of The Clowns? Harleen wondered). However, the Joker disappeared as did Carla, before any arrests or investigations could be undergone. Three months later, Carla's body was found in a landfill. Supposedly, the word 'Ha' was carved into her chest, although later examination found the lacerations in question were very much open to interpretation.

And what had the Joker said to Harleen? She thought about it.

"_Just like Carla."_

Harleen gasped as the full significance of this statement hit her. Whilst it could have simply meant that she reminded the Joker of some aspects of his old friend, the words could have also had a far more sinister meaning.

That is, if the Joker had killed Carla and had meant his words referring to her to apply to Harleen…

Well, it almost certainly meant that the Joker wanted to kill Harleen Quinzel.

* * *

**-Cue dramatic music- Mwoohaha! Anyone else wanna bet that poor Harl' has got a sleepless night coming to her? Anyway, I have a few questions for you...**

**1) Does this chapter remind you of any song? Does the entire story?**

**2)Should Harley find out the truth about Carla Bertrepp herself, or should the Joker tell her?**

**Anywho, I has to run now darlings! Love, hugs and maybe drugs!**

**TTFN from vampassassin**


	6. Chapter 6

_Whilst action-wise, not a lot happens in this chapter, a couple of crucial things happen. Firstly, you see that Harley is perilously close to breaking point. Secondly, you get hints that the Joker is in the middle of planning his escape from Arkham Asylum and Thirdly, Harley sees something she likes in a shop window..._

* * *

**Chapter Six, Pressure**

Sitting in mute horror, Harleen was not expecting her pager to go off. The sudden beeping caused her to give a quick squeal of shock before she realised it was just the little machine at her hip going off, and that it was nothing trying to kill or injure her. Heart pounding, she breathlessly reached down and pulled the device from her hip.

**H, uve got a call at admin**

"What now?" She groused, before replacing the device and getting to her feet. Casting one last look at the mess she'd created on the table, Harleen left the room quickly.

* * *

"What is it?" Harleen demanded Patricia, the receptionist irritably, "It better be good!"

Patricia had worked with Harleen long enough to know the poor girl was upset about something, and didn't mean to take her temper out on her.

"It's the police." She replied, holding out the phone, "I dunno what they want. Probably about the guy in your apartment?"

Wondering how many people knew about that, Harleen frowned and accepted the phone.

"Hello, Harleen here."

"Miss Quinzel, its Superintendant Virsky," the voice on the other end was deep and growly sounding, making Harleen think of a big, smart bear. A bear that carried a gun and drove a police car… Harleen shook herself, irritated by her wondering mind. "Commissioner Gordon wanted to speak with you personally, but he had to attend a meeting with the mayor. Do you mind talking to me instead?"

"Um, not at all." Harleen wished she could take the call somewhere private, but it was against protocol for interns. "What can I do for you?"

"Something has…come up." Virsky said evasively, "We're going to need your apartment for a little longer."

Harleen clenched the phone angrily, gritting her teeth in order to stop herself from using some very bad language. This was exactly what she didn't need, not after today.

"What came up exactly?" She demanded coldly, wishing she could throttle someone. Her violent longing was unusual, as Harleen wasn't normally aggressive at all. However, she wasn't under normal circumstances.

Virsky picked up on Harleen's anger. His next words were wary.

"Technically, under Gotham law, we were supposed to obtain a warrant when we enter someone's home…Either that or the written permission of the person themselves. Since we did neither, the DA is demanding our investigation be delayed whilst we go through the appropriate legal channels."

Harleen didn't even know where to begin with that statement. It took her a few moments to find her tongue, amidst her anger and frustration.

"This is ridiculous!" She hissed, "You _know_ I have no problem with a police presence in my apartment, so long as I'm not displaced for too long!"

"Yes, that may be, but the current DA isn't quite as understanding of the situation…" Virsky sounded disgruntled and rightfully so. The new DA replacing Harvey Dent was a woman by the name of Gertrude Dennison. She was unwelcome in her position, due to the fact that she strongly disapproved of Harvey's previous treatment of the Police Department; she thought Gordon and his subordinates were all a bunch of 'loose cannons' and needed 'a strict guiding hand'.

"Well, let me talk to her." Harleen growled. "I'll explain everything to her."

"I tried that too," Virsky said, sounding impatient now. "She said that she still expected Gordon to obtain a warrant from her…I don't think she's going to be very fast with it either."

"So I'm stuck in the hotel for longer?" Harleen asked, suddenly realising it might not be so bad. Sure all her stuff was at her apartment, but the hotel was closer to work and in all honesty, it was a lot nicer then her home.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so." Virsky seemed like he was genuinely sorry. "And don't worry; we'll continue to pay for accommodation and food…"

"Okay, sure." Harleen looked up at the clock and realised that if she was going to get everything she wanted to done today, she needed to move fast. "Anything else?"

"No, I just wanted-"

"Okay, bye then." Harleen hung up quickly and turned to pass the phone back to Patricia. "Hey, Trish, I'm gonna head home…can you do me a few favours for me first though?"

"That's why I'm here." Patricia grinned. She was a good receptionist, although the staff at Arkham didn't use her abilities as often as they could have. "Whatcha need?"

"Umm," Harleen quickly ran through a list in her head, "Okay, first things first…We have all patient files on disk right?"

"Yeah," Patricia nodded quickly, already typing quick commands into her computer, "You want a copy of the Joker's file on disk I take it?"

"Yeah…How'd you know I'm the new therapist for the Joker?"

Patricia pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Well, no one ever seems to have a use for me up here, so I start to learn a few useful skills with my computer…I discovered it's not very hard to hack into the Arkham system…Promise you won't tell?"

"Of course not," Harleen giggled, "So long as you help me out of course."

"Of course." Patricia repeated, inserting a disk into her computer, "Holy cow though, the Joker's file is huge! This disk is maximum memory, and it only just holds the entire file!"

"Yeah, you should've seen the paper version." Harleen said, still giggling. She liked Patricia; the girl was only a little older then her and had the ability to make Harleen feel like she was a normal twenty-three year old girl, as oppose to an intern psychoanalyst who was being tormented by a psychopathic clown.

"Mmm," Patricia mused before leaning back in her chair and ejecting the disk. She handed it over to Harleen with a flourish. "What else you need?"

"I need you to look at Vahns' system; I want to see if he's really paying me for the overtime I'm working."

"Okay…" Patricia's fingers flew over the keys like a blur, "Right, here we are…Yeah, he's paying ya, but not much…Want me to fix that?"

"Yeah, but don't go crazy," Harleen said, before flinching. "Mm, no pun intended…Just don't go overboard, or he'll notice something."

"Sure thing." Patricia yawned and looked back up at Harleen. "Anything else?"

"No, I think that's it," Harleen replied, weighing the disk in her hand, "I'll let you know if that changes though."

* * *

Once back at the hotel, Harleen quickly changed out of her work outfit before running down to a computer shop. Wincing at how big a chunk it was taking out of her pay-check, she bought herself a laptop and returned to the hotel.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, "A weapon…I need a weapon against him…'

She put the disk into the laptop and started going through the file. It was not as hard as it had been in the Archives as Patricia had taken the time to alphabetize everything. Still, the material contained in the Joker's file made for a terrifying and stomach-turning read. As the hours went by, Harleen grew increasingly upset and agonized. None of it seemed to offer her any way of combating the Joker and to make matters worse, she could _feel_ the toll all of the information was taking on her.

"No more!" She moaned eventually, pushing the laptop away. "It's no use…he's unbeatable!"

Miserably, she got up and shambled into the kitchen. She knew she was doing the wrong thing, but Harleen couldn't help going into the kitchenette mini-fridge and pulling out the three small bottles of whiskey in there. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, she downed all of them. The resulting buzz was more then enough to send her reeling.

"Oh crap…" She mumbled, shaking her head as if that would rid her of the drunkenness, "Not good…"

She stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. Harleen figured she could sleep the rest of the buzz off, but halfway down the hall, she noticed the bathroom door was open and the room appeared to have flooded; the water had overflowed and was currently soaking into the hallway carpet.

"Wha?" Harleen's mouth didn't quite form the entire word 'what'. "…The hell?"

She walked into the room, feet splashing in the water. To her horror, the sink had been plugged and then left to run on full hot water. As she stumbled over to turn the faucets off, she noticed that there was something on the mirror. Harleen moved closer to look at it.

A big, crimson smile. Thankfully, it wasn't written in blood this time, but Harleen's own lipstick; she could see the tube lying discarded at the bottom of the sink.

Harleen gave a frustrated, enraged screech.

"Not again!" She howled insanely, clenching her fists and glaring at the mirror, "He isn't even supposed to _know_ I'm here!"

Temper getting the best of her, Harleen savagely turned the water off and pulled the plug out. Holding the small, hard piece of rubber in her hand, an idea struck her. Snarling, she threw it as hard as possible at the mirror. To her intense gratification, the glass shattered.

"Ha!" She shouted at the cracked, warped mirror, "Hahaha! Who's laughing now?!"

With that, she turned on her heel to leave. However, Harleen had forgotten that the floor was wet, and therefore slippery. Before she even took a single step, her feet slid out from beneath her and she crashed to the ground, hitting her head on the hard, tiled floor.

"Owww…" She moaned, sprawled out on the floor. There were black spots eating away at her vision and everything spun sickeningly. "I guess you are…"

Then, she passed out. It was then that the nightmares of clowns began.

* * *

Harleen woke to a blinding headache and a hangover. She wasn't a stranger to the latter, but the first was quite an obstacle. It took her a further ten minutes to gather the strength to force herself up off the floor.

"God…" She whimpered, crawling over to the toilet. She threw up weakly into it, leaning back once she was done. "Owwwww."

She tried not to cry as she felt the sore spot where she'd hit her head. It was tender, but the skin wasn't broken. The headache was the real problem, and Harleen knew what she had to do. With a groan, she painfully got to her feet and limped out of the bathroom (being careful not to slip this time).

Once back at her kitchenette, she rummaged in the counter drawers to find some painkillers. Ignoring the recommended dosage on the box, she quickly swallowed three with a glass of water. Almost immediately, she felt the effects. The headache lessened a little and the hangover seemed to lose some its momentum.

"These are pretty good." She muttered, not noticing she was speaking to herself. "What brand are they?"

Curious, she flipped the box over. Produced by Wayne Enterprises. Well how 'bout that. Looked like Brucie boy had his claws in everything these days.

* * *

"Hey Harleen," Patricia greeted her, before looking up. "Wow, looks like someone had a rough night."

"Something like that." Harleen rasped, knowing that her bruised face (she wondered how she'd managed to give herself a black eye from simply falling over) and unironed clothing didn't give off the air of stability. "Fell over actually…Can't believe how clumsy I can be sometimes."

"Yeah…" Patricia still seemed taken-aback by Harleen's appearance, especially considering how perfect and neat she normally looked. "Um, so you're going to go see the Joker again, huh?"

"That's the plan, Jan." Harleen giggled before walking onwards. She ignored Patricia's mutter that her name wasn't Jan.

"Only room one is open today Harleen," Vahns said, not looking up from the report in front of him, "Construction has taken over the others."

"Yes sir!" Harleen said cheerfully, playing with a soft, foam ball with a corporate logo on it. She'd found the toy sitting on her desk, part of an advertising campaign aimed at Arkham staff. Vahns frowned and glanced at her.

"You look like crap." He said bluntly. "You shouldn't have come into work."

"Oh, don't be silly!" She scoffed in response, "I just slipped over on my bathroom floor. Hardly enough to miss work over."

"Were you drinking?" Vahns wrinkled his nose. Harleen giggled and shook her head.

"Nope. I was going to, but well, I didn't think it was a good idea. So, I went to pour the stuff down the bathroom sink, but that was when I slipped over and everything splashed on me."

It should have been disturbing how easily and naturally the lie came. However, Harleen was too tired and too disturbed herself to really care at this point. All she wanted was to get into the room with the Joker and begin today's insanity. It was a masochistic want for sure, but Harleen really couldn't help it. She loathed the Joker, but was entranced by him equally.

"You should be more careful," Vahns swallowed her story hook, line and sinker. "You could have cut yourself badly on the glass."

Harleen nodded and suddenly noticed that there was another ball on her mentor's desk. He saw her staring at the toy and passed it to her.

"Here, have it," he said nonchalantly, "Blasted thing was getting in the way."

Smiling widely, Harleen took the ball and stuck it in her pocket. Then, she walked out of the room.

* * *

"Harley, you're looking a little, uh, frazzled this morning." The Joker smirked. "I hope it wasn't caused by anything I might have done."

Harleen smiled, despite the pain she felt at hearing the spite and muted anger in the Joker's voice. It was obvious he still had the events of yesterday in mind.

"Nope." She replied, forcing herself to be cheerful, "But I did manage to fall over afterwards…Thus the bruised face. Nice black eye I have, hey?"

The Joker seemed perplexed by Harleen's sunniness. That was according to plan though. It had occurred to Harleen as she'd driven to work that morning that that was the secret: being cheerful. There was no use fighting or being miserable, the Joker expected that. What he didn't expect however, was for someone to regard his behaviour with the same unshakable, maniacal sense of amusement that he himself possessed.

The Joker's expression quickly regained its confidence though. He smirked again.

"It suits you Harley."

Harleen winced at that one. For some reason, the Joker's spite and anger was really getting to her today.

"That's mean of you, Mr. J"

The Joker grinned and more genuinely this time.

"Revenge for me naming you Harley? That's, uh, that's hardly professional. But then, neither is coming to work smelling of booze."

Harleen grimaced, realising she really did smell of whiskey, despite the generous dose of deodorant and perfume she'd given herself.

"Well, it was a stressful night." She muttered. "And no, it's not revenge. I just figure it's only fair that if you get to make up some ridiculous name for me, then I should do the same. Besides, your alias is a misnomer. 'The Joker'. You're actually not very funny."

The Joker tutted.

"Some people just don't get the joke. Don't lie though, you do."

"Tell me," Harleen suddenly forgot her intention to approach everything comically, "How'd you know what hotel I'd been placed in?"

The Joker laughed.

"Gordon doesn't change. He, uh, has been using the same hotel for people like you for months. It's pretty easy to, hmm, track you down anyway."

Harleen grimaced and made a mental note to alert Gordon to that fact. The Joker scratched his scars lightly before giving her a cunning look.

"I have a question for you." He said, looking very sneaky suddenly. "Why is it you don't like the name 'Harley Quinn'?"

Harleen didn't really want to go along this path, but she saw no other choice. Not if she was going to repair the damage she'd done last night.

"I'm afraid of clowns."

The Joker's brows shot up and he leant back and held his hands up, gesturing to himself questioningly. Harleen made a face and nodded.

"I know, it's…odd." She said, "But then, that's my mother for you…she thought making my name as close as possible to 'harlequin' was funny and cute. I wanted to change it, but somehow, I just didn't have it in me. I guess no matter her inadvertent cruelty, I couldn't bring myself to take that little joke away from my mother."

The Joker listened attentively, surprising Harleen. His expression was thoughtful and to her further astonishment, a little wistful.

"I bet your mother would get my joke then," he said, his smile abruptly looking strange on his face, "Not like mine. My mother was a bitch. She used to tell me I was an accident, and a bad one at that."

Harleen said, nothing, mouth falling open in shock. The Joker laughed at her face.

"You're meant to be my, uh…therapist right?" He asked good-humouredly, "Shouldn't you be writing this down or something?"

"Depends," Harleen narrowed her eyes, "Are you actually opening up to me, or just telling one of the many lies that just come into your head impulsively?"

The Joker gave her an annoyed sort of frown.

"I forgot you had access to my file now."

"Mmm," Harleen squirmed in her seat, not liking the feeling that she'd irritated the Joker. She put it down to fearing what he would do in his anger. "But anyway, I have another question…"

"Really?" The Joker drawled, regaining a little of his indifferent sarcasm, "And that would be?"

"Well…" Harleen licked her lips, not liking how she was diving into this blind. "Carla Bertrepp."

There was no mistaking the sudden anger that flared into life in the Joker's eyes. His smile didn't slip from his face however, making Harleen wonder just how suicidal she was to provoke such a vicious man.

"What about her?"

Harleen supposed she should at least be encouraged by the fact that he didn't try to deny his knowledge of her.

"You said I was like her."

"You are." The Joker said, regarding Harleen in the manner of one predator warily eyeing another. It was a disorienting experience for Harleen. "She didn't like what she was, like you."

"You killed her."

"Did I?" The Joker snorted derisively and shook his head as if annoyed by Harleen's statement. "What's your point to this anyway? Afraid I'm going to kill you too?"

Harleen couldn't deny it. She nodded slowly, saying nothing. The Joker suddenly started laughing, amused by something in her expression.

"I thought you were smart Harley," he giggled, "But, uh, apparently not. Here's a little info for ya Doc: I like to play with my toys, not smash 'em. Unless I can do both at the same time. But hey, you're not Batsy, so I wouldn't stress over it."

Thoroughly creeped out, Harleen shrunk back in her seat.

"I can't come every day." she said quietly, not raising her voice above the Joker's. Somehow though, he heard her anyway though, he fell abruptly silent.

"Ditching me Harley?" He demanded, lunging forward against his restraints suddenly. To Harleen's relief, they worked this time. "Tired of playing my game?"

Harleen didn't know how to reply, too intimidated and caught off guard to form words. Then, a smile of delight formed on the Joker's face. He leant back.

"That's not it." He said, "You, uh, you're starting to feel the pressure of keeping me here."

"No, I'm not." Harleen said quickly. Her words rung falsely though, and she knew it. A five year old could have heard the desperation in her voice.

"You are." The Joker gave a brief giggle. "You're starting to see you can't possibly keep this up, seeing me everyday and then having nightmares whilst you sleep…You know that you've only got three options."

"No…"

"One, keep going. But, uh, you know that'll drive you to end up a patient here yourself."

"That's not how-"

"Two, kill me. You'd like to. Gotham would thank you, reward your savagery. Batsy might even thank you, I don't know… You're afraid to kill me though…No, that's not it…You can't. You want to, but you, uh, can't. You're too attached…"

"What?" Harleen demanded, furious that the Joker would dare say that, "N-no! I'm not…I hate you!"

"Sure, everyone does." The Joker nodded amiably, "But truth is Harley darlin', and the truth's always good for talks like these, you love me just as much as you hate me, so that brings us to option number three."

Harleen, shaking from anger, guilt and the sensation of being overwhelmed, merely gave him a cold look.

"Option three…" The Joker paused, tilting his head, "You let the clown out of the box. You secretly like this option better then number two, even if you're not aware of it."

"You're so wrong that it's like you've made a bad joke!" Harleen spat, not noticing the pun she'd inadvertently created. "I hate you and the thought of letting you loose makes me sick!"

"Really?" The Joker laughed. "I don't think you actually know what you're saying Harley. You may not notice, but, uh, you're giving off all the signs of lying right now. You aren't making eye contact, you're being overly defensive and your voice changed pitch when you just tried to deny everything. Should I go on?"

"No, just shut up!" Harleen tried to snap, but her voice just lacked the necessary bite to enforce her command. She'd honestly been to tired and hung-over to deal with the Joker in the first place and now yelling at him had used what little strength she'd even had. "Just…Don't."

Giving a frustrated, weary moan, she slumped over the table. It was only with great self-control that she topped herself from repeatedly smacking her head against the metal surface as well.

The Joker looked at her as if surveying an interesting animal in a zoo. He seemed to make some decision then, because a small, almost smug smile worked its way onto his face. He slowly, warily reached out to pat Harleen on the head patronisingly, giving her plenty of time to shrink back from the gesture if she so chose. He found it interesting that she didn't choose to do so…

"Don't feel…bad." He told her, like he was trying to sound sympathetic. It wasn't the most effective ruse however as Harleen could hear the ever present insane trademark giggle beneath it all. "I don't…There's nothing you can do. I like to play with people, it's what I do Harley Darlin'…You can't hmm, compete with an expert. Just isn't done."

"I don't believe it." Harleen muttered. She was a little uneasy with the Joker's hand touching her head and hair, but she was too tired to move and she thought maybe if she at least pretended like she was cooperating with him, he'd go a little easier on her. "There has to be some way to beat you. Everyone has a weakness…It's just a matter of finding it and… and-"

"Exploiting it." The Joker finished, suddenly looking triumphant. "Harley…You don't, uh, happen to realise what you've just done, hmm?"

Harleen grimaced and sat up.

"Nothing."

"Oh no, no, no!" The Joker said empathetically, "You don't… You just undid anything you told me about being nothing like me. If you're so…Hmm, so good, then how do you know so instinctively everyone's got a point to be exploited?"

Harleen felt the sensation of realisation as a sickening blow to the stomach.

"I never th-thought about it!" She whispered, thinking back on how her whole life, she'd always been able to manipulate people according to their weaknesses. Her mother's weakness was the idea of her running away, so when Harleen's criminal activities had been revealed to her mother as a teenager, Harleen had merely hinted that she would leave home. As a result, she'd avoided being punished and her mother had always made sure she never wanted for material possessions.

"Mhm." The Joker suddenly sounded bored. "Well, I'm sure you'd, uh, love to think over that some more, but I have far more interesting things in mind."

"Yeah, I bet." Harleen muttered. Inwardly, she was a little perplexed by the ease in which she was conversing with the Joker. The sudden paranoid thought that maybe, he was just playing with her again and was getting ready to turn on her occurred. Suddenly nervous, Harleen narrowed her eyes and stared at the Joker closely. He raised his brows in response.

"Something on my face?" He asked, mock-anxiously. Harleen bit back a giggle. He smirked at her laughter and that was when it struck Harleen.

This whole thing was wrong. She shouldn't be chumming it up with the Joker! She should have been sticking to very strict pre-approved psychological guidelines for dealing with psychopaths. She should have been scared of this man!

Well, that last one maybe she was. The others though… Harleen knew what she was doing was frighteningly close to inappropriate fraternization, but she knew then, in a sudden realisation that struck her devastatingly, that she just didn't have it in her to care anymore.

"I don't think I should stay any longer." She said bluntly, figuring that no matter her fascination with the Joker, she should at least try to fight the urge to behave like this. "You haven't got anything productive to say, do you? I'm meant to be your therapist, so if that's the case…You're wasting my time."

The Joker tutted and gave her an ironic look.

"_You_ always come to _me_. Technically, you waste _my _time. However, since time seems to, uh, seems to be about the only thing I have… I forgive you."

Harleen honestly couldn't comprehend how this man could have the balls to mock her incessantly when she, as he claimed, was supposed to be his ticket out of Arkham. Honestly, if she were him (which oddly enough, didn't seem like to outlandish a prospect at present, given her mindset), she would have at least been nice to her possible escape route.

'_But hey, this is the Joker we're talking about… Does he even **know **the definition of 'nice'?'_

"Who says I don't have anything productive to talk about?" The Joker demanded, managing to pull of a fairly realistic injured expression, "Maybe I just, uh, was working up to it?"

"Yeah right." Harleen was irritated by his behaviour, but she couldn't help but grin at the same time. He was a little funny, she guessed. But maybe that was just the hangover talking. "You and I both know you're not interested in therapy… The only reason you're not in Gotham County Penitentiary with all the other murderers is because the poor guards there don't have the training to deal with crazies like you."

"I'm not crazy." The Joker suddenly looked angry, but not in a directed sort of way. He just appeared like he was irate, but knew he had nowhere or no one to direct his anger at. There was something strange in his expression too, like he wasn't quite all there. "I'm not… It's not my fault. I'm not crazy…"

Harleen felt a shiver go down her spine as she regarded the man before her. This was all real, she was sure of it. There was genuine hurt and misery in the Joker's face, it grabbed her heart and twisted it. For a split second, she had to battle the bizarre urge to touch his face. Then, she regained control of herself and what struck her as a bright idea came to the front of her mind.

"I used to be very good at gymnastics," She said without any preamble, "My teacher had been a street performer at one point…She taught me something cool. Want to see?"

Interest suddenly flickered in the Joker's eyes; he tilted his head and watched her closely. Harleen felt a stab of nervousness at his attention, but managed to prevent her hands from shaking as she reached into her pockets and produced the balls that'd been passed around the staff. Sticking her tongue out in concentration, she began to juggle. It'd been awhile since she'd done this sort of thing, but the basic skills were still intact.

Harleen kept it up for a few minutes, all too aware that the Joker's expression gave away nothing but a sort of clinical interest in her ability. Eventually, she missed one of the balls and they all came down, bouncing off her head and shoulders in the process. That at least prompted a response from the Joker; he grinned in amusement at Harleen's embarrassment.

"Do it again."

Surprised, Harleen shrugged and ducked down beneath the table to pick up the balls. Whilst her attention was diverted, the Joker quickly leant forward and grabbed the pen Harleen had left on the table as well as a paperclip that'd been holding a small pile of papers in her clipboard together. By the time Harleen sat up again, he'd managed to conceal the paperclip in his hair behind his ear and the pen up the sleeve oh his shirt.

"I changed my mind." He said abruptly, "You can go."

"But-" Harleen started to protest, feeling put-out by the Joker's indifference.

"Have you forgotten, uh, what I am?" The Joker snapped, "What I'm capable of…You're still at that hotel, aren't you? I would guess it'd take an intruder…a minute and a half at most to break that, uh, door down."

Harleen felt her heart sink. Whatever progress she'd thought she'd been making suddenly seemed pointless. Miserably, she put the balls back in her pocket and picked her clipboard up. She gave the Joker one last look, wondering what she'd done wrong. Gaining no further information, she shook her head in disappointment and left the room.

* * *

As the Joker was lead back to his cell, he had to struggle not to lose control in laughing fit. Honestly, the look on Quinn's face when he told her to leave! If he'd thought she was amusing normally, seeing the hurt and confusion mingled on her face nearly sent him into hysterics.

The Joker waited patiently in his cell as his guard undid his handcuffs and quickly backed out of the room, the electronic door locking behind him. Only then did he allow himself a grin. Today had proved to be a very good day, far better then he'd expected.

Poor little Harley was so _gullible_! She saw so much as a hint of sadness on his face, and she absorbed it all with the pity of a child. It was so pathetically _easy_ to make her believe his stories of an unloving mother, of his anguish resulting from his insanity… If it weren't for the fact that she was going to prove extremely useful in the near future, the Joker was sure he would have sent Harley packing by now. He had no use for therapists, especially interns like her. He knew perfectly well from conversations he'd overheard that Harley had not made it to her current position purely on her ability… Apparently, she'd both backstabbed and slept with colleagues to make it to Arkham.

And that was her saving grace in the Joker's opinion. If it weren't for the potential to exploit her cut-throat side and twist her mind, making her into his greatest joke yet… Well, he would have found someone else to serve his purpose.

Pretending to be bored, the Joker yawned and walked to the metal bed fused to his cell wall. It was uncomfortable, only a thin, foam mattress and matching pillow. There was no blanket. There wasn't a need for it; Arkham was kept at the perfectly comfortable temperature of 68 degrees Fahrenheit, meaning that extra warmth wasn't needed. Besides, blankets were security risks; patients had hung themselves with such items in the past.

Lying back on the bed, the Joker subtly eyed the camera in the corner. Technically, it was against the law for the Asylum to have cameras in the cells of patients who were not under suicide watch. However, the Joker happened to know this camera was special. He'd seen the bat symbol engraved in tiny detail next to the de. Arkham probably knew it was there, but did nothing as the device was concealed. If the Joker complained about it, they could simply claim they'd had no clue of its presence.

The camera was disguised in a roof panel in the corner, just outside the room light's reach. It was a commendable attempt at concealment, considering the limited options there were for hiding something in a room like this. The Joker however, was paranoid by nature; it was instinct for him to look for things like cameras.

Normally, he would have revealed his knowledge of the device from day one, taunting Batman incessantly through the device until it was removed. Not this time however.

The thing was, pretty much from the moment he was placed in Arkham Asylum, the Joker knew he could escape. It wouldn't be easy perhaps (but then, when had anything been easy?), but it was certainly possible. To do so though, he needed Batsy to think he had no idea the camera was there. That way, when it came time to leave Arkham, everything would come as a complete surprise…

The only problem right now though was the pen and paperclip. The Joker needed to remove them from his hair and sleeve, but he quite obviously didn't want Batsy to see him doing so.

After a moment's consideration, the solution to his problem came. Grinning to himself, the Joker rolled over onto his stomach so that as long as he didn't move his arms around to much, the camera shouldn't be able to see his hands. From that point, it was a simple matter to firstly let the pen slide from his sleeve and then pretends to push his hair back so that the paperclip fell neatly into hand.

Pleased by his own genius, the Joker began to go over his plan for escape.

* * *

Harleen didn't really feel like going back to her hotel after work. Partly because she was afraid that the Joker would carry through with his threat to attack her, but also because she knew that she'd only sit there brooding on her failure today.

"You look down." Patricia appeared, carrying her keys. It was the end of both their shifts.

"I am." Harleen sighed and shrugged on her coat. She'd changed out of her scrubs and was feeling a little better dressed in a pair of black jeans and her favourite red blouse. "I don't know how or why, but I think I really messed up with the Joker today…"

"I don't know why you took his case." Patricia said, leading the way out into the staff parking lot. Her car was similar to Harleen's: small, but clean and efficient. "Ever since you had your first session with him, you've been so different."

"Really?" Harleen blinked, a little perplexed by that. "How so?"

"I don't know… Not as happy." Patricia paused, biting her bottom lip. "Maybe it's none of my business to say anything…"

"No, go on."

"Well, there's just something not right about you these past few days." Patricia said quickly, as if trying to get it all out of the way. "You constantly look like you're running on nothing, you're so twitchy and I swear to god, I feel like you're on the edge of a cliff or something…"

Harleen didn't say anything, not sure how to react. She knew she should probably deny everything, but she knew perfectly well that what Patricia said was right.

"Well, the Joker is hard work." She muttered eventually. "It just takes it out of you…Plus he's been sending people to mess with me at home…"

"I found out how he's doing that." Patricia said suddenly. "He's been speaking with his lawyer, giving certain coded instructions."

Harleen scowled. It was so bizarre to realise that the Joker had a lawyer. She'd wondered what purpose it would serve as there was no chance of the Joker ever being acquitted or released. Now she knew the lawyer was there to serve the Joker's purposes outside of the confines of Arkham.

There was a long silence. Harleen stood awkwardly in the middle of the lot, shivering in the cold. Patricia regarded her uneasily before sighing abruptly.

"Look, do you want to go get dinner or something?" She asked wearily, "I hate seeing you so… I just don't like the idea of you being alone tonight."

"Why? Afraid I might do something stupid?" Harleen asked ironically. She climbed into the front passenger seat of Patricia's car nevertheless. "Where are we going for dinner?"

"I don't know." Patricia replied honestly, pulling out onto the highway into the main part of Gotham, "I didn't think of going out until just now. Why don't we just go downtown and walk around until we see something we like?"

* * *

"Hey, this looks nice." Patricia called out, "You like Italian right? Harleen?"

Puzzled by the lack of response, Patricia turned around. To her surprise, Harleen was paying no attention, standing further down the sidewalk, staring up into a shop window. Patricia walked down, frowning.

"Hey, are you alright?" She asked.

"Isn't it pretty?" Harleen asked in return, ignoring her friend's question. "I think it is…"

Patricia looked up and saw that the shop was Madame Mystery's Costume Boutique. The place was famous for being the place that all of Gotham's elite and wealthy went to whenever there was a costume party. It also provided for stage actors and actresses.

The costume that Harleen was so interested in was positioned on a mannequin in the front window. Looking at it, Patricia saw it was similar to a jester's costume. Red and black fabric divided into opposite portions with a pattern of diamonds on the legs. The costume was completed by the belled cap and ruffled neck and sleeves. It was a nice enough costume, Patricia thought, but it didn't quite seem enough to validate the look of mindless adoration that Harleen had on her face.

"So pretty." Harleen breathed, pressing her hands up against the window as if she wanted to melt through it and touch the harlequin costume.

"And so expensive." Patricia said, trying to jerk Harleen out of her strange trance. "It's a thousand dollars Harl'."

Adding to Patricia's alarm was the fact that Harleen did not respond to her addressing her by a name she normally hated. Harleen merely gave her a sad, puppy dog look and went back to admiring the costume.

"It has a lifetime guarantee!" She almost squealed in delight, "And it comes with those cute little red and black shoes!"

"Are you insane?" Patricia demanded, "When would you wear it? Even if you would…It's a _thousand_ dollars! No stupid costume is worth that amount. Besides, Gotham already has its share of costumed weirdos… You should know, you're treating the Joker for God's sakes!"

Finally. Harleen blinked and looked away.

"I guess you're right." She said, sounding sad. "Not worth it… So, you said that Italian place looked good?"

* * *

**Hmm, poor Harley seems to be losing the plot just a little...I wonder how much longer she can go on evil grin By the way, the three 'options' the Joker gave Harley are going to prove to be important.**

**Anyway, love ya darlings!**

**TTFN from vampassassin**


	7. Chapter 7

_I had a few brainwaves with this chapter. My first one was that this will be one of the last chapters before Harleen makes her delightful little transformation. Secondly, I have a couple of original characters in this story (Doctor Vahns, Patricia, Ed Geralds, Marshall Banks), I think I'll try to include pictures of them in my profile. If I can. Whenever I include a new character, I'll try to do the same. Third brainwave: including the Muse lyrics and chapter title. I dunno, it seemed like a good idea. It might end up becoming a trend for future chapters too.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Seven, Time is Running Out**

'_I think I'm drowning  
asphyxiated  
I wanna break this spell  
that you've created  
you're something beautiful  
a contradiction  
I wanna play the game,' _**Muse**

They didn't speak of Harleen's reaction to the costume that night. It was too strange, too out of character for it to be comfortable conversation material. Instead, they had discussions about shallow, meaningless topics like actors, fashion and what Bruce Wayne had last done (he always seemed to do something new each week, if not every day). They laughed and drank entirely too much. By the time dinner was finished, they had to call two cabs to take them home.

* * *

When Harleen got back to the hotel, she was nervous. She'd suddenly remembered the implied threats the Joker had made and she knew that if he should act upon them, she'd be incapable of defending herself in her intoxicated state. Maybe she should just call a friend and stay the night with them… Maybe Pam would-

No. Harleen's stubborn nature came to the foreground. She was determined not to let her fears get the best of her. She forced herself into the elevator and into the seventh floor hallway where her apartment was.

She was number twelve. Harleen stood, swaying slightly, in front of the door for awhile. Slowly, she reached out and unlocked the door. She opened it with her eyes clenched shut, as if expecting an explosion.

There was nothing. Harleen stepped over the threshold, giggling quietly. Silly her! As if the Joker would carry through with his threats… He was just joking…Silly…

She closed the door behind her (even drunk she was security conscious) and staggered into the kitchen. This was the second night in a row she'd been drunk, and after avoiding alcohol for three months, it felt like she'd lost her ability to withstand intoxication. Everything spun and she felt ridiculously amused by life in general.

Harleen suddenly realised that she had a balcony that lead off from the kitchen. She'd never noticed before, never even bothered to wonder. Grinning in delight she opened the glass sliding door and stumbled onto the little balcony. Gotham City was exquisite beneath and before her, a dark, swirling chaos brightened only by tiny pinpricks lights of offices, cars and homes. All there for the admiration and for… for the taking?

That thought struck her as hilarious. Harleen began to laugh. The mirth slowly grew in momentum until she had to sit up against the railing to support herself, face aching from laughter and comical tears trickling down her cheeks. Suddenly lights came on at the next balcony to the right and a fat man dressed in pajamas walked out.

"What's yer problem?" He demanded in a thick, ugly voice that matched his appearance in Harleen's problem, "Some of us are tryin' to sleep!"

Harleen stopped howling with laughter and restrained herself enough to speak through hysterical giggles.

"Beauty sleep is it?" She asked, head tilted to the side and a rather perturbing grin on her pale, tired face, "'Coz I don't think its working."

The man blushed a nauseating pink and scowled.

"Drunk bitch!" He snarled, "I'm gonna complain to the desk downstairs! What's yer name?"

A sudden brainwave struck her and she let it take over her response.

"Harley," she giggled, "Harley Quinn. Pleased to meet you fatso. Or is it ugly? I forgot…"

The man looked ready to jump from his balcony to hers and punch her face in. Amused by the idea, Harleen moved closer to the railing that divided their balconies.

"Do you have a wife?" She asked sweetly, knowing just how to send this man nuts. It was like the Joker had said; she knew just how to exploit everyone's flaws and weaknesses instinctively, like a predator.

"Yeah, but that's none of yer business," the man growled, "'Less yer some kinda lesbo…"

"Because I don't think she'd love you." Harleen continued giggling, as if she hadn't been interrupted, "I mean, look at you. I betcha a hundred bucks she cheats on ya… Sleeps 'round and stuff."

Harleen had barely finished her sentence before she felt two meaty hands close around her throat. The man shook her angrily, snarling obscenities. When she giggled in response, she felt one of his hands leave her throat and smash into the side of her face several times. The same side she'd bruised falling over in the bathroom as coincidence would have it.

Seeming to feel he'd made his point, the man promptly let go of her and stalked off back into his apartment, muttering something about Gotham being full of psychos these days. That sent Harleen into further hysterics. When a beer bottle sailed out of a window at her, she caught it in mid air and promptly hurled it back at the man's apartment, where it shattered. Howling with laughter, Harleen quickly darted back into the relative safety of her own apartment where she locked the balcony door.

Then, she stumbled down into her bedroom and collapsed onto the large, double bed where she laughed herself to a disturbed sleep in which psychotic clowns chased her, laughing in triumph.

* * *

Harleen did not feel like laughing when she woke the next morning. She was in far too much pain for that. Her entire face felt swollen and she was surprised she hadn't lost any teeth. She would have cried, but there was a graze on her face from the fat man's wedding ring and the thought of getting salt water in that immediately closed down the waterworks.

"Ooowww." She whimpered, feeling exactly like the previous morning, only a million times worse, "What was I _thinking_…._Was_ I thinking?!"

Well, the answer to that was a big, fat, obvious 'no' in red, capital letters. Last night had been one of the worst in recent memory…She's been in a bad state anyway because of work and then she's gone and gotten rip-roaring drunk on top of all that… Well, at least know she knew it'd been a night always destined to end badly.

Actually, everything felt like it was ending badly these days. Even just _ending_. Harleen couldn't shake the impression that the time she had was limited, tight… Everything felt like a piece of string, stretched and stretched until it wouldn't take much more to make it snap.

Getting off the bed, Harleen was just shambling into the kitchen when the phone started ringing. It's shrill, incessant noise was enough to send a bolt of pain through Harleen's head. Wincing, she hastily answered the machine.

"Mmm. Hello?" She mumbled.

"Harleen, it's Ramirez." The woman seemed to pick up on her condition from the first uttered syllable. "A report came in this morning from the guy in the apartment next to you… Something about you being drunk and abusive and just generally disturbing the peace. Just thought I'd call and ask if you're alright?"

"I'm just marvellous," Harleen replied, managing to exclude most of the sarcastic drawling from her voice, "Just have a teensy-tiny little hangover… I went out to dinner with a colleague last night, that's all. I dunno what the guy's going on about."

"Mhm, sure." Ramirez had no such qualms about sarcasm. "Just keep the lunacy to a minimum… I understand you're probably feeling stressed over the Joker and over life in general, but Gordon really doesn't want to have to kick you out of the apartment."

Harleen's heart sank.

"Gordon knows about this?"

"Yep." Ramirez replied in a sort of 'tough-love' voice. "The guy you bothered is on Gotham City Council, he raised all sorts of hell saying that Gordon should think twice about giving deadbeats help next time."

"Lovely." Harleen muttered to herself before sighing. "Yeah okay, sorry Ramirez, I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Good." Ramirez said flatly, "Because Ed Geralds is a nasty piece of work. If I have to put up with him bellowing at me and getting his spit in my morning coffee again, _I'm_ gonna come looking for you, okay?"

"Sure thing." Harleen winced as both her face and headache gave a brutal throb. "I don't suppose he mentioned the hiding he gave me?"

There was a brief, uncertain pause. Even if she was a police officer, trained to accept evidence, not groundless claims, Ramirez was a woman and was given to banding with any other woman who'd been hit by a man.

"No." She replied quietly, "He said he'd had to defend himself because you came at him."

Harleen laughed bleakly.

"Figures…" She said, "Never mind I'm almost a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter then him. Whatever… I'll talk to you later Ramirez."

"Okay, see you."

As soon as she'd hung up, Harleen made a rush for the toilet to throw up. Afterwards, she took several of the super effective aspirin and decided that she definitely wasn't getting drunk again.

* * *

"Jesus!" Patricia swore when she saw Harleen. "What happened?!"

"Um, those three beers, two glasses of red and one martini weren't such a good idea." Harleen mumbled, "I, uh, provoked this guy…Ed Geralds."

"The fat guy on the Gotham Counsel?" Patricia's face took on a new expression of alarm, "Harleen, you didn't! Ed Geralds is the main guy in regulating Arkham's budget!"

"Oh shit, really?" Harleen gasped, "_Really_?!"

"I swear I'm serious." Patricia looked frightened. "Harleen, what if he finds out you're an employee here?"

"I dunno." Harleen found that it was hard to contemplate potential doom when her head felt like it was going to split and her face felt like…Well, just like a big fat guy had smashed it with his rock hard fists. "I'm hoping he doesn't I guess."

Patricia grimaced but let the subject go, seeing the pained expression on Harleen's face.

"Hey, are you sure you should've come into work today?"

"No, but that doesn't matter." Harleen said flatly, "Because I have to. I have a mountain of reports piling up and besides, if you know I'm treating the Joker, you know about his threat. Either he sees me every day or he attacks staff and himself."

"Harleen," Patricia still looked worried, "You're getting obsessed with the Joker, I swear. You realise you spend almost all day with him now? And that you couldn't stop talking about him last night at dinner? You kept calling him something weird… 'Mr. J' or something like that."

"I…I didn't, did I?"

"You did." Patricia said grimly. "Sure it was only once you'd had a few drinks, but that's what scared me even more… If you're so obsessed with him without even realising, there's got to be something wrong."

That brought a sudden flare of temper. The idea that there was something wrong with her and her…interest in the Joker just got Harleen's hackles right up.

"How would you know?" She snapped, "You're _not_ a psychologist, you _haven't_ been in the room with this guy, so you have no fucking _clue_ what you're talking about!"

The room rung in the sudden silence that followed that outburst. Patricia opened her mouth for a moment, but then shut it. She shook her head and simply went back to typing at the computer. Harleen stayed standing in front of her for a moment, wondering if she should say sorry. In the end, she decided against it. She just didn't feel like it.

* * *

To Harleen's relief, Doctor Vahns was away from work that day. It seemed he'd gotten a good dose of the flu and had called in to say he wasn't coming in today. So, Harleen was pretty much the highest ranking staff down the Joker's end of the building. She was able to get that day's session set up without any hassle.

"What happened to your face?" The Joker asked, sounding uncharacteristically serious. Harleen glared at him, trying to find some mocking or amusement in his voice. There was none, only a muted, almost totally concealed icy fury. It frightened her a little, but by this stage, Harleen was mostly used to the Joker's mercurial emotions. She still noticed them for sure, but she accepted them as an inevitable part of his persona.

"I got drunk and picked a fight with Ed Geralds." She said bluntly, not in the mood to be finicky about her privacy or ego. "Do you know who he is?"

"Yes." The Joker replied. It was a strange reply for him. Not 'yep' or 'uh-huh', like he normally would say. Yes. And no strange inflections to his voice, no smacking of his lips. Just one, flat word… Yes. "He hit you?"

"Mhm." Harleen gingerly touched the side of her face. It stung. "He has a pretty nasty vocabulary too, even better then mine and that's saying something."

The Joker looked at her unfathomably for a moment. Then, he blinked and cleared his throat.

"I'm good with, uh, medicine," He said suddenly, "Lemme have a look. Please."

Harleen didn't move, a little shocked by what the Joker had just said. Then, she shook herself and leant forward. Smirking at her nervous expression, the Joker rolled his eyes and held his hands up.

"See?" He said sarcastically, "No knives or other bad things. I, uh, promise not to hurt you. This time." He added with a playful sort of evil grin. Harleen, not altogether reassured, didn't react nevertheless.

"Ed hits like a girl." The Joker muttered, examining Harleen's face. His fingers barely touched her, but it gave Harleen the shivers anyway. "No offense course. Good he does though, didn't take any of ya teeth out. Still, he got you pretty bad. What'd you say to him?"

"Um, I called him fat and ugly…And I said his wife probably sleeps around because of it."

The Joker laughed and gave Harleen an admiring glance.

"His wife does, uh, sleep around, you know that right?" He asked, "It was in one those trash-loids…"

Harleen's eyes widened in shock.

"No!" She gasped, "No wonder he went off like-"

"-A lunatic." The Joker grinned crazily, liking the simile. "Good job, choosing the, uh, one thing to guarantee getting a beating."

"Like I said, I was drunk."

"Mm, that brings me to question two." The Joker paused, eyeing her speculatively, "I thought you were a vino, why'd ya take up the drink again?"

"Who's the therapist here?" Harleen laughed nervously. The Joker gave her a patient look and gestured for her to just answer the question.

"B'coz I was… bothered." Harleen muttered sullenly, like a child demanded to account for a broken window.

"By…?" The Joker suddenly giggled, ruining any normality he might have just displayed. "Aw, I upset ya!"

"You already knew that." Harleen felt miserable suddenly, like she could see herself how pathetic she was. "You like upsetting people."

"Mhm, I'm good at it." The Joker appeared thoughtful for a moment. "Do ya know the one thing I hate about this place?"

"No." Harleen wondered where the sudden change in subject was coming from. She was curious to hear his answer though, so she didn't voice her questions.

"You're not meant to, uh, call me 'Joker', and you don't let me have my face." He raised a brow quizzically. "Why not?"

Harleen grimaced. Apparently, one of the Joker's biggest tantrums had been over being disallowed access to his face paints and alias. He was simply addressed as 'Patient 6457' by the doctors, because he refused to give any other name.

"It's detrimental to the effects of your therapy." She replied, feeling relieved she at least remembered some of her training for situations like these. "It's a false identity you've built up… Therapy encourages you to embrace your true one."

The Joker sneered.

"Therapy? You, uh, think that honestly makes a difference to my behaviour? I mean… Ever heard the term 'incurable', Doc?"

"I know that." Harleen said quietly, feeling the bleak reality of the Joker's position. He was truly insane, completely incurable and therefore never to be released into society. What was the point of his presence in Arkham if therapy was to prove pointless? All he did was use up taxpayer money and already overstretched staff.

"Then you understand your options." The Joker sounded like he was demanding something of her. "It's one, two or three and much fun as it might be for you or, uh, Gotham in general to play with killing me… I prefer option three."

"I'm sure you do." Harleen said dully, not liking the helpless sensation the current topic of conversation was instilling in her. "Never mind that even if I wanted you out of Arkham, which I don't by the way… I'd have no idea how to do it."

"Uh-huh," The Joker seemed disbelieving, "You're, uh, fairly intelligent…"

Harleen shook herself and gave the Joker an irritated look.

"I am not discussing how to get you out of Arkham."

The Joker nodded innocently.

"Then what are we discussing?"

"You." Harleen decided abruptly. "I haven't done any of the work I'm meant to with you yet, so I'm going to get started. What's your name?"

"Aw now that's no fun." The Joker whined, shifting in his seat. His handcuffs rattled quietly, making Harleen think of ghosts in chains. "Just asking. You have to… I want you to _earn_ information."

"So you will provide me with answers then?" Harleen asked carefully, inwardly excited. The prospect of making real progress with this man gave her visions of promotions…fame…money… "Provided I, in your words, 'earn' them?"

"Mhm." The Joker dipped his head comically. "Now, what do you and Gotham's…_finest_, uh, know 'bout little ole me?"

"You're 34 years old." She said quietly, "Which we only know because you mentioned who was mayor of Gotham at the time of your birth not long after you were admitted here. We believe you attended Gotham Technical College with Carla Bertrepp where you first began large-scale crime. You seem to have gained considerable skill in chemistry, explosives and electronics from your education. And medicine, as you mentioned. Not long after however, you murdered Carla Betrepp and disappeared for quite a few years."

"Tut, tut, Harley." The Joker gave her a reproachful look, "You have all this and not only can you not find my name, you can't even get your facts right."

"What do you mean?" Harleen demanded, "They're all right! The investigation may be patchy, but this part was solid!"

"Nope." The word popped from his lips. "You researched Carla for your essay…report…thing."

"Yeah, how did you know that?" Harleen asked warily, feeling her skin crawl suddenly.

"Just do…Clever I guess." The Joker pursed his lips, obviously thinking about something. "Tell ya what Doc, I tell you a little something about Carla, and you do me a favour, okay?"

"Alright…" Harleen didn't like the calculating quality to her patient's voice, "So long as it's nothing illegal."

The Joker ignored the last part of that statement, already speaking.

"I've seen all the reports on Carla… Lemme set the facts straight: she was, uh… Well, nicely put, a real bitch. Not half as good as she's led you to believe. She tried to, uh, blow the college's resident janitor up when he told the school 'bout her drug use… She packed his car engine full of dynamite and ammonium nitrate…"

"None of this was reported anywhere." Harleen said weakly, "There was an investigation… There was nothing about any of this in her school records!"

"That's because I burned all her and me's records." The Joker said slowly, drawlingly.

"You didn't want to leave the police a trail to connect your past crimes to your present identity?" Harleen asked, wondering how far she could push along this line of conversation.

"I'm suspected anyway." The Joker yawned. "I burned 'em 'coz they had my name in 'em. Now, you owe me a favour."

Harleen got a bad feeling, but shrugged anyway.

"What?"

The Joker suddenly gave a wide, terrifying grin.

"Call my lawyer; tell him I want to speak with him. Then, make sure you go home to the hotel on time tonight."

"What are you planning?" Harleen demanded fearfully, feeling shivers run up and down her spine. "I don't want to-"

"It's not going to hurt ya." The Joker said quickly, raising his handcuffed hands into the air "Clown's honour, it won't injure or kill you. Unless you die laughing, and even I've never done that…"

Harleen bit her bottom lip, resisting her silently screaming curiosity. The Joker noted her hesitance and arranged a pleading expression on his face. Harleen felt bad when she saw the insistence in her patient's brown eyes.

"It'll be really funny." He told her, "You'll love it."

Harleen felt her resistance give way at that. She smiled and nodded, drawing a delighted laugh from the Joker. Suddenly, her day felt a little better.

* * *

Patricia didn't say a word to her as she walked out the front doors of the Asylum. It didn't bother Harleen though, she was too curious and truthfully, too excited by the prospect of what the Joker had possibly left for her at the hotel.

She was so excited actually, that she managed to nearly kill herself several times on the busy Gotham roads. By the time she reached the apartment, she'd collected herself two speeding tickets from two separate cops. Normally, this would have been enough to ruin her entire week. However, Harleen was not normal today.

The receptionist in the lobby gave Harleen a dirty look as she rushed by, probably a result of the previous evening. However, Harleen ignored that too and went straight up to her apartment. By the time she managed to unlock her front door, her nerves were stretched as thin as possible and her impatience was almost more then she could bear.

Slamming the door shut behind her, Harleen looked around the apartment. It was dark; the curtains were drawn over the balcony windows which usually let in most of the light. Then, Harleen saw a box wrapped in bright purple, shiny paper sitting innocently on the dinner table. Curiously, she moved closer, dropping her keys in her pocket as she did so.

The box had a small tag on it. Harleen flipped it up and read the message. The handwriting was bizarre, simultaneously jagged and curly. Bold letters, written with a pen pressed down hard.

_Open it and get ready to laugh. J._

Hmm. Melodramatic, but intriguing nevertheless. Harleen chewed her bottom lip, desperately torn between her instinct not to touch the box and her peaking curiosity. Warily, she prodded the box and then winced, waiting for some sort of reaction. When there was none, she slowly picked it and weighed it in her hands. It was a fairly large package and very solid. Maybe something made of wood?

Giving a sigh, Harleen decided it didn't matter that it was probably a bad idea, she wanted to see what was inside the box. With trembling fingers, she pulled at the emerald coloured ribbon that had been tied in a bow at the very top of the package. It slithered to the tabletop silently, leaving the package easy prey for Harleen hands. She tore at the paper until the object inside was revealed.

A dark, glossy violet cube made of painted wood. On most of the panels were delicately hand-painted scenes of a circus. Well, sort of. Harleen had never seen a circus where the performers had fairy wings and horns and wore flowing gold and blue robes. Entranced by the intricacy of the paintings, Harleen picked the box up and turned it around in her hands, absorbing everything. Then she noticed that on one panel, there was a little sun with a gold button in the middle.

Harleen immediately thought of what sort of things would be triggered by pressing the button. Massive explosions, leaks of toxic gases… She didn't even think that prospect of a deadly spider packed inside was impossible. But it still seemed bizarre for the Joker to insist that nothing tonight would harm or kill her, leave such an innocent note and then just go kill her anyway. It just didn't make sense. Inwardly reprimanding herself for her foolishness, Harleen pressed the button.

A quiet, chiming tune began to play. Harleen wasn't familiar with the melody, but it was beautiful and she thought that it would make a perfect lullaby for a small child. She smiled faintly, beginning to daydream. Then, the tune stopped.

Frowning, Harleen leant forward to look at the box again. And that was when the top of it flew open and something sprung out at her.

Harleen gave a scream. She realised now that the box was a jack-in-the-box, but like none other. The jester on the spring was a complete, tiny replica instead of just a head. Its hands held a bowl and inside the bowl was…

A bloodstained card, like the sort corporations gave out to consumers. Shaking from fear, Harleen picked it up and looked at it.

_Open your curtains Harley._

Truly terrified now, Harleen got up and walked over to the balcony doors. Whimpering under her breath, she pulled the curtains back, only to screech in horror as the body on the other side was revealed.

Ed Geralds. He was sitting propped up against the balcony railing in a pool of his own blood. It was just like finding Stevens in her house, all over again. Only, this time, as well as the facial carving and slit throat, there was a sign hung around the dead man's neck. It was written in unfamiliar handwriting, not the Joker's, which Harleen was familiar with from his file.

**I Ed Geralds, do apologise for hitting Harley Quinn!**

And then, written in blood by Ed's feet was a further message.

_**Laughing yet Harley?**_

Harleen gave two more, deafening screams before passing out.

* * *

"I feel that I'm seeing entirely too much of you, Miss Quinzel." Gordon sighed, "At least, under entirely the wrong circumstances."

"Well, that's not my fault." Harleen replied, ignoring the knowledge her answer was a childish one. "And it's Harley, not Harleen."

Gordon raised a brow, but didn't comment on the sudden change in name.

"So, what happened?"

Harleen shrugged.

"Exactly what you'd think from the messages… The Joker killed Ed Geralds."

"You don't sound very regretful." Gordon remarked pointedly.

Harleen gave the Commissioner a sour look.

"He hit me. I don't suppose Ramirez mentioned that to you at all."

"As a matter of fact, she did actually." Gordon replied nastily, increasingly starting to dislike Harleen, despite his inward promise to give her a chance. It was something he couldn't help though, the woman possessed some vague, unquantifiable quality that set the hairs on the back of his neck up and his hackles rising.

Harleen made a disgruntled noise and something bad flickered in her blue eyes. Gordon couldn't help another remark.

"Don't be so quick to doubt my people," He said coldly, "And I won't be so fast to consider you involved in all this somehow."

Well, that at least got Harleen's attention. Eyes widening in shock, she looked up sharply.

"_What_?!" She demanded, voice transforming into a horrified, furious hiss that escaped like a snake from beneath her teeth, "How can you _say_ that?! I wasn't even _here_ when all this happened!"

"Maybe," Gordon allowed in a hard voice, "But you _knew_ that the Joker was planning something. You _knew_ he would have something set up right here, at this time."

Harleen opened her mouth angrily and started to say something, but Gordon cut her off.

"Yet," He interrupted, silencing her with a furious look, "You neither alerted us, nor even took precautions for yourself. Which rather makes me wonder perhaps if you had some hand in all of this?"

"I didn't!" Harleen snapped, "And if you don't believe me, I…I…"

"You what?" Gordon queried in a bored tone. He actually knew that Harleen was no part of this latest murder; he just wanted to dismantle her a little.

"Don't ridicule me Commissioner," Harleen replied dangerously, "I may be much younger and less experienced then you, but that does not mean I will tolerate being treated as a pathetic amusement."

"Indeed." Gordon paused. "Actually, I think now would be an opportune moment to ask you some questions, Miss Quinzel. Or Quinn. Whatever it is you prefer these days."

"These days." Harleen muttered to herself, "Nothing but lost control and pressure."

"Pardon?" Gordon was alarmed, not by Harleen's talking to herself, but by the expression that crossed the young woman's face. Something wild, unpredictable and volatile. The closest thing Gordon could compare it to was a time, years ago, when he'd been part of a team that had held an armed robber pinned down in a corner. The man had been schizophrenic and to make matters worse, well and truly trashed on a near lethal overdose of meth. The look in that man's face as his inescapable fate registered him was like Harleen's now: a cornered animal, torn between attack and pitiful collapse and submittal to some terrible fate.

Perhaps sensing Gordon's train of thought, Harleen looked up again. Something calculating flickered briefly through her eyes, but was lost before Gordon was entirely sure of its existence. She gave a bright smile.

"I'm sorry Commissioner," She sighed, "I'm tired and stressed… A little out of it."

"That's…entirely understandable." Gordon still felt his instincts declaring that something was horribly wrong with Harleen Quinzel. "Now, about the questions I mentioned."

"Of course." Harleen's smile fluttered across her pink, innocent lips once more. "Ask away."

"Well, a number of your friends have begun to become concerned about you." Gordon began carefully, thinking that maybe the realisation that she was causing her loved ones concern might get through to Harleen and shake her out of whatever bizarre state she'd gotten herself into.

Harleen's expression briefly showed annoyance. Then, that smile, simultaneously coy and dangerous, returned.

"See, I think there's been a misunderstanding," she said sweetly, "I'm not particularly social, I can't think of any friends I have…At least, no one close enough to grow concerned about me."

Gordon stared at the woman before him. What the hell was wrong with her? She was denying that she had any friends, and in doing so, gave the impression she found the idea of friendship to be distasteful and undesirable. Gordon took a bracing breath in and allowed himself a moment to think. He watched the forensics team over Harleen's shoulder, examining Geralds' body.

"Well, your colleagues then." He said firmly, "Although, considering you went out to dinner with one of them last night, I find it odd you do not consider her a friend."

"Oh, Patricia." Harleen said flatly, suddenly cold. "I thought she was a friend. I changed my mind though. She took an interest in an area where she had no right to."

"Which was?"

Harleen levelled her cold, hard glare in Gordon's direction now.

"Let me rephrase that: she took an interest where _no one_ has a right to."

Gordon resisted the urge to snap back at Harleen. Instead, he decided to stop walking on eggshells and just bludgeon the woman with questions. She'd abused his attempted tact and kindness, so he was done playing games.

"Several of your work colleagues have voiced a strong concern for your relationship with the Joker." Gordon said bluntly.

Harleen froze for a moment, mouth slightly open in surprise. Then, anger flooded back.

"What relationship?" She demanded, "I attempt to treat him, that's all! That's hardly a 'relationship'!"

"That's not what I have heard." Gordon replied warningly. "And from looking around right now, it's not what I've seen either. There is obviously something else going on if the Joker would arrange to have someone killed, just because you mentioned he hit you!"

Harleen gave a chilling, mirthless laugh that made Gordon's bones feel cold.

"The Joker is inherently selfish," She said grimly, "He does things like this for no one's sake or amusement but his _own_, Commissioner. So, to consider this murder as some sort of twisted good deed on his part would be a true mistake, considering his nature."

"If that's so, why would he involve you so closely?" Gordon shot back at her, gesturing to the scene around him. Harleen smiled in cynical amusement and shook her head slowly.

"Because I'm his witness, his audience." She replied, more quietly and sadly this time. "He might have been a decent man once, but not now. Now, he needs…_craves_ someone to see what he does… Indeed, what is the purpose…the point of destruction and death for him unless there is someone else to watch?"

It was true, Gordon knew it instinctively. Everything that the Joker did, he did for an audience. If there was no audience, the Joker forced one to exist. That'd been why when he'd attacked Gotham, he merely started off with a bank robbery: because he needed to catch Gotham's attention so that when he did turn to mass horror and chaos, he would have his desired audience.

"Why did he choose you though?" Gordon asked, almost to himself.

Harleen suddenly giggled, as if laughing at a person's sheer stupidity.

"Because I'm all he has!" She said girlishly between giggles, "He's a clown in a box, he has no other audience! At least, not the one he prefers."

"Batman." Gordon said dully, knowing what Harleen meant. "He really wants Batman, but since he can't have him, he's made do with you."

"Uh-huh!" Harleen nodded brightly. Gordon was struck by the sudden change in her. Her voice was different, higher pitched and with a stronger Gotham City accent. She seemed better humoured too, if inappropriately so. And it had all been prompted by the fact that the Joker was interested in her. "Exactly. That's why he refuses to have any other therapist but me, because he knows no one else would be able to tolerate witnessing him!"

"And you can?" Gordon asked doubtfully.

"Well, so far so good." Harleen replied. "Sort of."

Gordon shook himself. Enough was enough; this whole situation was losing control. Just like Harleen herself apparently. He needed to do something, anything.

"Miss Quinzel, I've seem and heard enough." He told her firmly, "The Joker's influence on you has proven to be a negative thing. As soon as Doctor Vahns recovers from the flu and returns to work, I'm asking him to take you away from the Joker."

Gordon deliberately worded his sentence so that Harleen was implied to be the Joker's property. He wanted to see Harleen's reaction. She didn't disappoint him.

"You can't!" She hissed, "I'm the only one who's capable of making progress with him, who can get…have gotten _anything_ out of him!"

Gordon raised his brows at that.

"You've managed to get some sort of information out of the Joker?"

"Yes."

"Pertaining to what?"

"Pertaining," Harleen said, "To his true identity. He's given some information already."

Gordon was furious.

"Why wasn't this reported to me?" he demanded, "You are aware that I could legally charge for deliberately withholding information?"

Harleen looked angry enough to spit. The officers near to the pair briefly looked between her and Gordon before returning to their respective tasks. The atmosphere was tense and volatile; no one wanted to trigger an explosion.

"I never said anything because I only found this information out today…Commissioner!" She snarled the last word, packing enough spite and disgust into it for even Gordon himself to be surprised. It was obvious that the topic of the Joker was a sensitive one with her, only worsening his fears. He pressed his lips together grimly and regarded Harleen sternly.

"Miss Quinzel, I am going to have to ask you to please control yourself." He said warningly, "Else I will ask for one of the paramedical team to sedate you."

Harleen looked even angrier, if such a thing was possible, but she knew she was bested here. She was alone in an apartment full of officers loyal to Gordon, not her. If she was going to avoid being sedated and having the Joker taken away from her, she as going to need to play by Gordon's rules. For now.

"My apologies," Harleen said stiffly. "I got carried away. It won't happen again. As I was saying though, I did not report my findings to the police as I only obtained my information today, and due to the scanty nature of the information, it can still only be classified as private Arkham data as opposed to intelligence legally required by the police department."

"And I'm guessing as such, you won't be sharing any of the details the Joker was kind enough… or twisted enough to share?"

"Actually," Harleen forced herself to sound less hostile, "You're wrong. I have no problem with you knowing what I've been told… I'm curious if nothing else as to whom the Joker really is."

"Well, you've pleasantly surprised me then." Gordon's smile was cool. "What did the clown have to say?"

Harleen thought about it for a moment.

"Apparently he was enrolled in two courses: mechanics and computer skills. He's 34 years old, so my guess is that if you call up a list of all students taking mechanics and computer skills during the appropriate time frame, it should be easy enough to find the Joker's identity."

Gordon's brows shot up and his expression was surprised.

"That's the sort of thinking I'd praise in my detectives." He said mildly, "Do you have some sort of experience with this sort of investigative process?"

"No." Harleen smiled, inwardly laughing derisively at Gordon, "Just a disciple of Sir Arthur Doyle."

Gordon's blank expression irritated Harleen.

"He wrote Sherlock Holmes Commissioner." She said waspishly. "I would have thought you'd known that."

"Unlikely." Gordon replied, responding to Harleen's scorn in kind. "I failed my university literature course. I was more interested in helping Gotham citizens then reading about a fictional character."

"And a fine job you're doing." Harleen said bitingly. "Are your lackeys done now?"

Gordon looked over Harleen's shoulder again. Indeed they were. Everything had been attended to, including the body, which was currently being wheeled out of the room in a paramedic's body bag.

"Yes, they are."

Harleen glared at Gordon.

"How is you're done so quickly here, but not in my apartment?"

Gordon grimaced. The DA was still throwing a hissy fit over the legal technicalities of their investigation in Harleen's apartment.

"We didn't have to have a warrant to enter here; there was concern for your life and that was all we needed. The discovery of Ed's body just happened to be an unfortunate occurrence. The DA is demanding she have access to all the details from your apartment however, as she thinks we may have lied about items in our reports."

"Bitch." Harleen muttered under her breath before facing Gordon again. "I don't suppose you know yet who the Joker is letting do his dirty work?"

"No." Gordon said grimly. It was bothering him a great deal. "We know that the Joker gives coded, seemingly innocuous orders to his lawyer who then passes them on to this unknown assassin. We've tried putting surveillance on the lawyer, but the man seems to disappear the instant he finishes talking with his clients… We can't find his name; address or business listed _anywhere_, even our own databanks."

Harleen put her own anger, frustration and fears aside for a moment.

"And there's absolutely nothing on the assassin either?"

Gordon gave her a narrow eyed look.

"I'm afraid you're straying perilously close to classified information there. Given your close proximity to the Joker and the sensitive nature of the information in question, I can't answer your questions."

"Pity." Harleen said flatly. "Now, since everything's finished here, I'll ask you to leave."

Gordon gave her another look, this one less warning and more hostile.

"Asking or demanding?"

"Neither." Harleen replied coldly. "Telling. Goodbye Commissioner."

* * *

As soon as Gordon had left the apartment, Harleen gave an angry shriek and threw herself onto the couch. The only good thing that had come of talking with Gordon had been the lies she'd said about the Joker studying mechanics and computers. At least now Gordon would be mislead and she'd have this all to herself.

"Stupid bastard!" She snarled, pummelling a nearby cushion, before throwing it at the ground, "Stupid, nosy assho-"

_Clunk_

Harleen stared at the pillow she'd thrown. It's made a very loud, solid sound for something made of fabric. Scrambling down from the couch, she knelt by the cushion and unzipped the cover. Inside was… a video.

Barely breathing, Harleen pulled the tape out. She stared at it in shock and excitement for a moment before rushing over to the television and slotting the device into the VCR. Immediately, something flicked into life on the television screen.

Ed Geralds. Sitting in the bathroom of his apartment. Well, the police had already been there too, so that was okay. He'd obviously been tortured there before being dumped on Harleen's balcony.

Ed was bloodied, but not by the facial carving. That hadn't happened yet. No, he'd been beaten, not cut. He looked only half conscious and the look on his eyes as he regarded the camera was dull, hopeless.

"So, the boss would have liked to do this himself." A voice said on the video, from a point out of sight. It was someone disguising their voice, that was obvious. It still sounded vaguely familiar to Harleen though. She ignored that thought and continued to listen. "But um, he's sort of busy at present, so he said I could take care of this. First things first… Say hello to Harley, Ed!"

Ed's head dipped against his chest, but you could still hear his voice, slow and bleary.

"'Lo Harley."

"Good man." The torturer said sarcastically. "Now, to get straight to things… You hit Miss Quinn, which for some reason, best known to himself, has irritated the boss. Bad move my man. Besides, it's just cowardly to hit a girl, 'specially when she's only like, five foot three or somethin'."

"She was bein' weird." Ed mumbled, blood trickling from his lips. The entire scene was grainy, adding to the air of brutality in the film. "Said stuff 'bout my wife sleepin' with people."

"Well, why not? It's the truth." The torturer was amused now. "But anyway… You need to say sorry Ed, you weren't very nice to poor Harley."

"I'm not sayin' nothin'."

There was the sound of tutting and suddenly, Harleen got a horrible shiver down her back. She _knew_ she knew this torturer, and that scared her.

"Well, if you're going to be rude…"

A person entered the frame. They were wearing a balaclava and bulky clothing, so Harleen couldn't tell who they were, except that they were also a man. They had a large, serrated knife in hand.

"Come on Ed, be a sport." The other man said in a pleasant voice, "Smile at the camera and say sorry."

"F-fuck you."

The other man looked at Ed for a moment before suddenly lunging forward. Harleen could only watch as this man used one hand to pin Ed's flailing arms down. Then, the man held the knife up to Ed's face and without hesitation, pressed it into the flesh.

Ed gave a screech as the blade penetrated his body. Harleen watched, torn between horror and hysterical, uncontrollable amusement, as his individual screech turned into a string of terrifying howls. The other man kept him pinned down as he yanked roughly at the knife to help it tear its way through the flesh. Blood flowed heavily, like syrup almost. Ed's screams began to lose their distinction as the knife turned his mouth into a long, jagged slit to painful and unfamiliar to use. After a minute or two, he was reduced to tears and unintelligible gurgling and throaty whimpers. He looked like he was choking on the blood that flowed from the wounds, down his throat.

"See Ed." The torturer said brightly. "Everybody likes a man who can smile. It's much more… Well, I like it at least and trust me, my opinion is the only one that matters right now."

Ed's tongue looked like a dismembered piece of flesh, writhing in his messy, torn mouth. He twitched and shook, obviously close to passing out and fighting still. The torturer suddenly grabbed him by the throat and held the knife up where he could see it.

"Say you're sorry Ed," He hissed malevolently. "Say you're sorry or I'll cut your eyes out next. Then your tongue. Then your balls. Say you're sorry!"

Ed struggled with his mouth for a moment. Harleen was simultaneously nauseated and intrigued by the way the flaps of skin covered in gore moved around his mouth when he tried to speak.

And then, the words came. They were slurred, damp and agonised, but Harleen recognized them anyway. Sorry Harley.

"Good boy Ed!" The torturer sound faintly approving. "Now say bye Harley!"

Ed looked puzzled. That confusion ended quickly. And violently.

When Ed's screams ended, the sound of the knife sawing through his throat continued.

* * *

Gordon was walking down the hallway from Harleen's apartment and into the stairwell when someone appeared from a male bathroom in front of him. Gordon recognised him as Marshall Banks, Arkham Asylum's Max-Sec Director.

The pair stood regarding each other for a moment.

"Nice to see you Commissioner." Banks said neutrally. "Always is. May I ask what you're doing here?"

"Police work… Miss Quinzel seems to attract trouble." Gordon replied, feeling the cool disdain Banks felt for him. "And you?"

"I live here."

"No, you don't." Gordon replied nastily, "Or you'd be using the bathroom in your own apartment. Besides, I've called you at your home before and your number gave a different area code."

Banks paused, obviously irritated. Gordon looked at the man with faint suspicion.

"Why are you really here?" He asked flatly, "If you've had something with-"

"Alright you caught me." Banks snapped, throwing his hands up in the air melodramatically. "I was coming to see Harley, but if she's had trouble tonight…"

"I wasn't aware you and Harleen were friends." Gordon said. "I mentioned friends to her, and she said she had none."

"You really have an amazing lack of tact, you know that?" Banks said angrily. "No, we're not friends… If you must know, I've harboured a… well; I've had an admiring eye on Harley for awhile now. I was going to ask her to dinner tonight."

"Oh." Gordon inwardly cringed. It seemed his paranoia was really out of line now. "My apologies then, I don't think Harleen is going to be in the mood tonight."

"I don't think so either." Banks muttered. Then, he looked up at Gordon and shrugged. "Oh well, maybe another time."

Gordon watched Banks walk off, feeling a nagging sensation that time was running out he couldn't explain.

"Maybe." He murmured to himself, "Maybe…"

* * *

**So, here's my questions this time for you:**

**1) Do you guys like the idea of each chapter including a few lyrics at the very beginning?**

**2)How do you think Marshall Banks is included in all this?**

**3) When Harleen eventually flips out, should she go after Gordon or Batman first?**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! **

**TTFN from vampassassin**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys, I know it's been awhile since I updated, but this chapter is quite long, so I hope that makes up for things.**

**Anyway, although there's not really any action in this chapter, there are a lot of 'stage setters' and other events that really start to set up the complexity of the story to come. I hope you can appreciate that and forgive me for this chapter's lack of bang-bang action. Love you all :]**

**

* * *

Chapter Eight, Make a Move**

_I'm cautious of who I would call a friend  
Who you acquaint is who you are  
The darkest hours are when we choose a side  
So make your pick and take a fall_

_Say something  
Say anything at all  
Make a move (Hands on the eyes are the engines of demise) _**Incubus**

* * *

When the video ended, Harleen didn't move from the couch. She was frozen there, by horror, grotesque fascination and by deep thought.

'_So it's come to this…' _She thought faintly, _'Being this man's audience has come to being a witness of murder… Being __**responsible**__ for murder…'_

Somehow, that thought didn't sit properly with her. Something in her mind laughed at it, mocked it's naïveté.

'_Oh come on Harley,' _the voice in her head said scornfully. It sounded like the Joker sometimes, and like the girl who'd first called her 'clown girl' the other times. _'_ _You act so upset by the whole thing when really, you wanted Ed dead.'_

"N-no, I didn't." Harleen whispered, feeling the unease of a lie prickle at her skin.

'_Oh yes you did! You watched him suffer…watched him bleed and you liked it Harley. You've always liked it. Face it, you're a freak too. You always were. Always felt that difference, that little thing that put you apart…Like a wolf in a pack of dogs.'_

"It's not how I'm meant to be." Harleen said, "But I am. I guess I should live with it."

'_There ya go kiddo, that's the spirit! That's the ticket! You're doin' fine, you're gonna do everything ya need to…'_

"How though?" Harleen burst out, frustrated. "I'm meant to…to…"

'_Let the clown out of the box.'_

"Yeah, that, but no one tells me how!" Harleen snapped, feeling angry suddenly. "And why can't it be my choice to let the Joker out?"

'_Because you wouldn't…'_

"I might." Harleen replied defensively. It wasn't true though. "Okay fine, so it's not my choice. I still don't like it though. What now?"

'_Now you need to make your move.'_

"What move?"

There was no reply from that little voice in her mind. Harleen growled; it figured it should prove only to be her inner demons taunting her, and not a voice providing actual help and assistance.

* * *

**Joker's POV**

I hate it. I can't stop it, but I still hate it. I want…I need to see her face. I need to know if I'm still getting out this way. I need to know. It can only work this way. At least, this is the only way I've thought of. I could think of others.

But I don't want to. This way works. If it ain't broke, don't fix it right? I just wish I knew if it was broken or not. I'd be able to tell from just one itty bitty glimpse of her face.

Pretty face too. Smug and overly confident maybe, but pretty. Always an added bonus. Even prettier when it's scared. Or sad. Maybe that's just me though.

Hopefully, I'll get to see a lot more of her pretty little face soon. After all, she's turning out to be my best joke yet…

Sort of. She's needs a little…inspiration? No, motivation. Yeah, better word: motivation.

Hey, I can provide that! Where'd...Where'd that pen go?

* * *

**Third Person POV**

As the evening progressed, indecision morphed with temptation. Harleen alternated between numb, terrified confusion and agonising determination as a result. In an attempt to try and calm herself down, Harleen decided (her mind mocked her that it was the only thing she was capable of making a decision on) to take a shower. She would have preferred a bath of scented oils, but the bathroom didn't have a tub.

Once inside the steaming, hot shower (she decided that lukewarm water just wasn't going to cut it tonight), Harleen felt fatigue consume her. Slowly, she sank down until she was sitting wearily against the shower wall, engulfed by hot water and steam. It was so tempting to just doze off where she was, to let sleep take her…

* * *

_Chaos all around her as frenetic colour and sound. It was everywhere and nowhere…So horrifying and so beautiful. All gorgeous, undefined contradictions. Fiery, bloody explosions complimented flocks of butterflies and playing cards that fluttered through the air.  
_

_And the master of it all laughed at Harleen. The Joker was in his element, in control. Before Harleen could say anything though, he was gone and she was somewhere else. A blackness… there was a single light, aimed at a small, glass box that sat on a pedestal. Harleen approached, intrigued._

_The box contained a card, a Joker card. Right. Perfectly logical._

"_Do it do it do it do it…"_

_Harleen didn't know where the voices came from but she understood what she had to do, what she'd been born to do… She picked the box up, held it above her head and-_

_

* * *

  
_

Harleen awoke with a gasp. Somewhere in the apartment, a phone was ringing. The shower had turned ice cold, making her wonder how long she'd been asleep. It was bewildering, disorienting; ice cold water, sudden awakening and the trilling of the phone all at once. Harleen swore she heard the Joker's laugh added to the mix, albeit just for a split second.

Spluttering, Harleen shakily got to her feet and fumbled for the knob to the shower. She managed to turn the water off after a moment. She lurched out of the shower and without bothering to find a towel, she ran out into the main part of the apartment.

The phone hadn't stopped ringing, so Harleen picked it up quickly, instinctively knowing this was important.

"H-hello?" She didn't realise until then that she was shivering and that her teeth were chattering.

"Harleen, its Derrick." His voice was calm but still betrayed some small worry. "Can you come back to work?"

Harleen frowned and held the phone closer to her face. As if she could force herself to see what was going on at Arkham.

"Why, what's happened?"

"It's the Joker; he's been placed on suicide watch."

"_What_?" Harleen almost shrieked the word. She could imagine Derrick's corresponding wince.

"Look, can you come down?" Derrick sounded stressed now and Harleen could hear a commotion over the line. "It's just too…too hard over the phone."

"Okay okay!" Harleen ran into the bedroom, thanking god that the phone was cordless. She started pulling on clothing randomly, ignoring the fact that she was still wet. "Just… I don't know, make sure nothing happens!"

Derrick's responding laugh was grim and mirthless, only worsening Harleen's fears. Without bothering to hang up properly, she threw the phone onto the bed, grabbed her keys and ran out the door.

* * *

"_Jesus_!" Harleen screamed, slamming on the brakes and swinging the wheel. Horns wailed in death tones all around her, she braced herself for the agonising, jarring impact and the sounds of shattering glass and…

It never came. As if guided by a divine hand, the green Ford SUV that Harleen had been about to be smashed to pieces by managed to swerve and avoid her tiny compact car by mere inches. For a moment, everything was a swirling kaleidoscope of sound and panic as both cars skidded and slid across the rain slicked roads for what seemed like an eternity. Three more times Harleen screamed as she was nearly struck by other vehicles on the highway.

Then, miraculously, it ended. Not in death, blood and mangled vehicles, but in blessed wellbeing and silence. Everything seemed to freeze for Harleen as she sat shaking and gasping in her seat, stunned by her continued existence. It'd all been so quick…

She'd been speeding, desperate to reach Arkham. She hadn't been paying attention to the roads and the fact that rain had made them dangerously slippery. Her car had hit a slick patch and had gone careening into oncoming traffic…

It'd all been so quick. The truth hit Harleen hard. She could have so easily been killed. Driving one moment, gone the next. It, life that was, suddenly seemed so horrifyingly fragile, so temporary…

'_Stop that!' _Harleen commanded herself, even as hysterical giggles began to bubble from her trembling, numb lips. _'Just…Stop!'_

And still her terrified thoughts continued. They were as potent as the giggles that consumed her, not growing in volume, but not ceasing either. Harleen found that she couldn't take her hands away from where they were curled tightly over the steering wheel. She sat, frozen and giggling.

'_This is ridiculous.' _ She managed to reprimand herself harshly. _'You're being stupid! You weren't paying attention and you nearly crashed. Fine, okay. Deal with it!'_

Harleen nodded quickly and with violently trembling fingers, pressed her lips together, stemming the flow of giggles. She jumped though when someone tapped at her window.

It was a man, bespectacled and gesturing urgently. He seemed to want to speak with her. Right. That would take forever when she needed to get to Arkham. Harleen shook her head at him through the window and motioned for him to move away. Puzzled, he did so, only to shout angrily as she stamped on the accelerator and sped away from the scene.

* * *

"What happened?" Harleen didn't bother with a greeting. She just strode through the double doors that led to the clinic, expecting Derrick to keep up. He didn't disappoint her. After all, he'd always been a bit of a puppy dog, following her around.

"We don't know how, but he managed to slit his wrists open." He replied tersely, "The only thing that could have happened was that he snuck something sharp into his cell, but the orderlies are furious at that allegation; it'll mean their jobs if they allowed him to get his hands on contraband."

"Where is he now?"

"Under watch of course, lightly sedated." Derrick said as they reached the clinic doors. "We tried to pump him full of tranquilliser, but his system just beats the stuff…We cant get him any further down then he is now. And it's…Well, it's really making him a mess as it is. More so then usual at least."

"Uh-huh." Harleen wasn't paying him any attention now. She was too busy focusing on the Joker, who was sitting up against the far wall, handcuffed and attended to (or rather, studiously glared at) by three armed guards. Apparently, Arkham wasn't taking any chances, not where the Joker was concerned.

"Everybody out," She said quietly, somehow gaining everyone's immediate attention regardless, "I'm him therapist, I want everyone _out_."

Perhaps everyone in the room caught something dangerous in her voice and eyes, because they all did exactly as she commanded. Waiting until the door shut behind the last guard, Harleen warily approached the Joker.

He looked distant, his eyes were slightly unfocussed. The illusion of slowness was quickly lost however, his eyes snapped up to look interestedly at Harleen as she cautiously crouched down in front of him. There was something heart stopping and riveting in the way his pupils constricted to jet black points as they focussed upon her face. They were hard spots in a face that was looking unusually soft in the harsh lighting.

"Why'd you try to kill yourself?" She didn't beat around the bush; she was too stressed for that.

"When did I do that?" The Joker asked indignantly. It was probably the sedatives, but he seemed much more… ordinary at the moment. True there was still an air of something dangerous about him, but it was mostly hinted at now, as oppose to blatantly displayed at the surface. Rather like a large, toothy mastiff that probably could have ripped your throat out without a second thought, but was currently chewing a squeaky toy.

Harleen looked pointedly at the Joker's wrists, which were bandaged. He followed her line of sight and upon glancing down at his arms, began to roar with laughter. There was an odd note to his laugh at the moment.

"Ttthhhaaaattt," The word was drawn out obscenely, slurred, "Is not me, uh, trying to hop on the suicide expressssss...That…This is me providing you with a, uh, ultimatum."

Those words immediately set a sense of unease and entrapment at work amongst Harleen's bones. Her blood seemed to slow to an icy, shivery creep.

"Ultimatum…"

"Mhm." The Joker's grin was unsettling. Whilst he seemed less dangerous at present, it was obvious he was no less unpredictable. The sedatives, whilst nowhere near as potent as they should be, were still managing to shape the Joker's behaviour a little. "Either you get me out or…Or next time I go down the road, not across the street…"

Harleen opened her mouth to ask what he meant. There was no need though; the Joker raised his handcuffed hands so that he was able to pull the bandages away from his right wrist. Harleen saw that the slash, jagged and messy looking, ran horizontally across his wrist, not vertically following the blood vessels.

"Knew it wouldn't kill me…" The Joker yawned. "Not in here, doctors everywhere, supercilious assholes."

Harleen made a face, not liking the blank indifference the Joker displayed in regards to his own life and wellbeing. He noticed and giggled.

"Oh, my bad." He chuckled, eyeing her in amusement, "I meant 'cept for you of course, Harley…You, uh, you're okay. Bit annoying and hmm…smug. But ok."

"I'm not a doctor yet." Harleen said out of reflex, before letting the shock and horror of her situation sink in. "You can't… You're honestly saying that if I don't help you escape Arkham Asylum, you'll kill yourself?"

"Somethin' along those lines." The Joker looked amused still. "You know that when I decide something, I uh, I stick to it. Well, I decided I want out. That or nothing at all. Gotham or Bust! Uh-huh, fun times here I coooomeee!"

"No!" Harleen moaned, "That isn't _fair_!"

"Life isn't fair." The Joker looked smug at his sound logic. Harleen sighed and changed the subject.

"How'd you cut your wrists?" She asked wearily, "The orderlies are denying you managed to get your hands on anything sharp, but they're obviously wrong…"

"Obviously." The Joker repeated mockingly. "Although, you'd be, uh, be the one getting sssacked."

"What?" Harleen asked incredulously, "What…How?"

"I stole your pen." The Joker, probably because of the sedatives, sounded proud like a cat that had deposited a bird it caught itself at its owner's feet. "_You_ were the only other, uh, person in the room. _You_ were responsible for maintaining security."

"But…I…" There didn't be anything Harleen could say, so she looked at the Joker helplessly. He smirked and waited for her to fight the sense of horror and panic enough to speak.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Harleen asked in quiet misery eventually. "I'm already…I know you have some need for an audience, but I'm already that, why do you keep _hurting_ me?"

"Consider it tough love, Harls," The Joker shrugged in an over exaggerated manner. "You're, uh… You're not bad really, but you need a little tough love to help you _do_ stuff. You never used to do things…You were wasting your, uh, life."

Harleen said nothing, unable to do anything but stay frozen, wishing that she knew what to say or do. Bizarrely, all she could think of at that moment was the costume in the shop downtown. Not helping. Harleen shook her head and refocused.

"Because you know, we're getting to a, uh, a point where someone has to make their move." The Joker said, "And well… I think you're in the better position to do that. I'm just helping. See, I'm the good guy in all this!"

"And I'm the bad guy?" Harleen asked dully.

"Nope." The Joker giggled briefly. "You are…You arrreeee… Hmm, Harls, what are you? You're like… Hey, you're like my Patty Hearst!"

"Pardon?" Harleen wondered if maybe this was something she should know.

Obviously so.

"You don't know who Hearst is?" The Joker grinned at her in disbelief and amusement. "Look her up then. It's hmm…interesting if nothing else."

Harleen bit her lip and looked at the Joker sadly.

"I can't do this." She said quietly. "I can't… I love my job and my life; I can't ruin all that by letting you out…You'll hurt people."

The Joker paused, the smile fading from his face.

"You hurt people." He said quickly. He sounded compelling and insisting, but not quite begging. "I know your type. You're too ambitious; you cut yourself off from all your loved ones. You hurt them. WHen's the last time you even spoke to someone who loves you?"

"That might be the case." Harleen replied, trying to hide the hurt she felt at the Joker words, "But still. You'll burn and kill and destroy if I let you out."

"How do you know?" The Joker's eyelids were low and heavy over his eyes, but there was a determination in his expression nevertheless, "For sure I mean. I, uh, I did things that got me caught last time. I get it now, I get that I can't do this in Gotham…"

"Really?" Harleen meant for her question to sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding weak and genuinely unsure. The Joker shrugged.

"Oh sure, I'm not perfect." He giggled, obviously amused by that thought. "But I'd be pretty good. No blowing up hospitals at least. Maybe a few jewellery store heists and a couple of mob rolled deals, but I… Well, that's good behaviour for me. Really good. Like canonization material. For me."

"I don't…I shouldn't…" Harleen got to her feet and backed away quickly. "Don't do this…don't make me regret trying to help you."

"If you haven't yet, I'm losing my touch." The Joker replied a touch nastily. "In which case, I might get mad…"

"You say you want…need my help," Harleen said quietly, "But you don't stop tormenting me. How am I meant to want to help the man who'd happily see me end up in the next door cell?"

The Joker said nothing, head tilted to one side and eyes dark and almost sleepy. He gave her a brief smirk before slowly, deliberately turning his head away. For an insane moment, Harleen fought a desperate, brutal battle not to giggle. It was just; the Joker looked exactly like a little kid sent to a 'time out' in the corner.

Just then, one of the guards popped his head in the door.

"Are you alright in there?" He asked, eyeing the Joker warily. "Are you finished?"

Harleen bit her bottom lip and looked back at the Joker. He continued to ignore her, prompting simultaneous amusement and guilt in Harleen. She sighed and shrugged.

"Yes to the first, no to the second." She replied dully, "But don't worry, I'll fix the second later."

As she walked out the door, Harleen thought she could feel eyes on her back.

* * *

**Joker's POV**

She is really getting on my nerves. Miss Quinn I mean. Obviously. Duh.

She can be so good sometimes, intelligent. Then, that stupid reflex to, uh, to at least _pretend_ to want to do the right thing kicks in and then… Then she stands there like an idiot who can't make her mind up. Like one of those turkeys… When it rains, they drown. Well, without me, Harley would, uh, drown if it rained. Mhm. Something like that, consider it a metaphor.

The worst part isn't that she's being… Well, yes, that is the worst part because I _would_ like to get out of here sometime this century. But no, it really pisses me off that she's being all faux good-guy because I really could like her. Harley, my little Harley Quinn, I could grow to like her. Sometimes, she's my sorta girl. Like with the juggling trick, I liked that. I could teach her better tricks.

And then, she seems to grow a little guilty. Like some hmm… switch flicks inside her brain. 'Yeah right, meant to be good'. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She knows that's not who she is. Like that, she's almost annoying enough for me to want to…

Hmm, that's an interesting one. What would I do…What will I do to Miss Quinn once I'm out of here? Interesting as she is, I don't think she and I would hmm, get along. She's changing yes, oh yeah definitely, but not quite as much as I thought. Makes me wonder if maybe I am losing my touch.

So what to do… I don't like to waste a good joke, and Harley is a very good joke. But, she's only…Only half finished. Maybe it would be better just to clear the board and start over in the future some time.

I wonder what it would be like to see my little harlequin scream. Bleed. Uh-huh, I think I'd like that. People are at their most interesting when they're in pain. Harley Quinn… I can almost taste her fear when she's near me, it's a wonderful thing. I'd love to take it further, have her bleed and scream and cry at my feet. I can almost feel my hand hitting her… Destroying that pretty little face that she wears so unappreciatively. Trust me, I know something about valuing your features. You don't know what you got until it's gone.

Actually, I just thought of a question. It's like um... Like one of those Zen questions. You know, what sound does a tree make falling where there's no one to hear it? Well, here's my little question.

What sound does a harlequin, a creature born to laugh, make in pain?

Maybe it's just me, probably actually, but I can only hear laughter still. That's what I generally only hear anyway. Sometimes, the laughter's just too much and I have to let it out. Maybe Harley is the same, maybe she laughs too. Maybe she'd even get the joke if I tried to kill her. I mean, she has to be somewhat intelligent to have gotten here.

So that's it. I have to get out of Arkham, but I have to make my Harley Quinn laugh too. Not just a little giggle, I want for her to see what she is and then, I want her to laugh so hard she feels like can't breathe. If she can do that, maybe, just maybe, my joke isn't wasted yet.

Heh, I just thought of something. I wonder if it's possible to laugh yourself to death?

* * *

**Third Person POV**

As Harleen walked down the hallway, that little voice in her head was back, berating her foolishness.

'_See? All he did was tell you what you already know: it's a stalemate and it's up to you to make the first move! His 'suicide attempt' is proof of that…He was right to do it, you are so pathetic, you need all the motivation you can get.'_

Harleen licked her lips and paused in the middle of the hallway.

"That's not true…I can do things on my own." She murmured, running her fingers through her hair. She grimaced. Her most recent dye job had left her hair feeling odd. It always surprised people she wasn't a natural blonde. "At least, I used to be able to. I got this job on my own."

'_Yeah, right… You and all the professors and lecturers you had to screw to get here and-'_

Harleen winced, cutting off the biting tirade. She wasn't proud of what she'd done to obtain the elusive Arkham intern position. She couldn't help but shudder thinking of the doctors, old enough to be her father, who'd been more then happy to give her top grades in return for some 'female company'.

'_Okay, fine.' _The little voice in her head seemed to grudgingly respect the no-entrance area of her memories. _'But just listen for a minute. You're different now, the Joker's done that. Probably wasn't a good thing, but no use crying over spilt milk. So, are you going to mope and go insane, or are you going to start making the best of a bad situation?'_

"I dunno." Harleen muttered, like a sullen child.

'_Harley!' _Funny, her little mental voice sounded eerily like the Joker there as it reprimanded her unhelpfulness.

"Fine!" She cried, startling one of the medical engineers who was walking behind her. He gave her a puzzled look before scurrying away. "I'll do something. What though?"

'_Well it's your move kiddo.' _ The little voice was smug now, if such a quality could realistically be assigned to mental voice. _'So do anything, just make it already.'_

Harleen stayed frozen, pondering that for a few minutes. Then, her eyes fell on an informational poster that had been placed on a blank stretch of wall.

**Security and Administrative Procedure during Arkham Construction**

Looking around furtively and chewing her bottom lip, Harleen moved closer to the poster. She studied it for a moment, absorbing the amount of sheer information presented to her all at once. Then, making sure no one was watching, she tore the poster down. Hiding it beneath her coat, she hurried away.

* * *

Gordon was tired. He had been ever since the Joker had crashed into existence. Even behind bars, he was a constant thorn in Gordon's side. No matter the security measures being taken (including the new upgrades that were currently being constructed with Bruce Wayne's money), Gordon could never shake the sensations of stress and worry that surrounded the Joker.

During the day, Gordon had to read through the daily reports from Arkham. Every time the Joker attacked a staff member or otherwise threatened security, Gordon had to hear about it. The complete lack of progress in his therapy, the way he drove other patients and doctors to unmentionable conditions…It made him shudder.

And then, even when he was at home and sleeping, Gordon was plagued by constant nightmares. They were dreams in which the Joker escaped and smashed his way through Gotham, burning and killing and laughing. Yes, laughing. It was the psychopathic clown's laughter that haunted him, as it did so many others.

And now, the Joker was seemingly rising to power once more. How this was possible from behind bars, Gordon wasn't sure. However, whoever this mysterious assassin was, leaving bodies for Miss Quinzel to find, was doubtlessly working for the Joker. At first, Gordon had only regarded the prospect of an assassin hired by the Joker as a vague theory, barely worth attention. Then, Ed Geralds had been killed. A councilman. He'd been forced into action.

"Let me get this straight," Gordon looked at the detective before him wearily, "You've gone over _everything_, every last detail, in Quinzel's apartment and you haven't found a single hair, fingerprint…_anything_?"

Detective Liao looked just as tired as Gordon. He shook his sleek, black haired head and almost shrugged.

"No. Even the corpse itself displayed no traceable evidence… We ran scans over Doctor Stevens' clothing, skin and hair. We could find no DNA for us to follow."

"So that leaves us where?" Gordon muttered, half to himself, "Nowhere?"

"Not quite." Liao paused, blinking thoughtfully. "There's still the evidence from the Geralds killing to be considered. We examined the handwriting of the notes left for Miss Quinzel. They're quite obviously neither hers nor the Joker's. Whilst graphology was…inappropriate for the circumstances, we did however analyse the ink used itself."

Gordon raised a brow, a little perplexed.

"And?"

Liao smiled.

"The ink used to write the note belongs to a very specific brand of pen. That is, a very expensive brand of pen. They're an elitist executive thing, designed to make big earners feel even wealthier then they already do."

"Oh." Gordon frowned, a little bemused by how this case's only lead was turning out to be an expensive piece of stationary. "What's the brand?"

"Terri Tech Office Tools." Liao replied, "Owned by Maria Terri, one of Gotham's big faces…She's Harold Weinstein's ex-wife…You know, the-"

"-Telecommunications guy, yeah." Gordon waved the unimportant celebrity connection away. "So, you could call Terri Tech for the customer list?"

"Already have." Liao wilted a little. "Apparently buying stationary is top secret stuff, because Miss Terri flat out refused to give me the names to any of her customers… She did reveal however that the pen's ink only lasts about a month though, so whoever this assassin is, they're in trouble because we have two hard facts about them."

"They have easy access to the Joker, and they recently bought a pen from Terri Tech…" Gordon thought on it for awhile. Then, an idea came to him. He was annoyed it hadn't occurred to him before. "That Arkham receptionist…Patricia…She mentioned that the Joker's lawyer had been receiving coded messages from the Joker himself, and then continuing them on to this assassin… Can we squeeze the lawyer himself for the assassin's identity?"

"Doubt it…" Liao's lip curled. "Carl decided to go on an unexpected holiday to Canada…We can't reach him."

"I don't like this Cheng," Gordon used his detective's first name unconsciously, uneasily running his fingers through his hair. "First of all, the Joker even bothers to start playing games with Quinzel…Then this assassin appears. On top of all that, the Joker's lawyer, the only guy who can communicate between the Joker and the assassin, has left the country. Why would the Joker deliberately cut himself off from the outside world?"

"Maybe the Joker doesn't have the amount of control he thinks he does…" Liao appeared to think hard for a moment. "From the way the Joker has treated Miss Quinzel, I hardly think he has a value for her…So maybe, killing Ed Geralds was a personal move on the assassin's part? Maybe… The assassin has a thing for Quinzel, and killed Ed Geralds because he couldn't stand someone hitting the woman he was after?"

"There's no evidence to support that," Gordon said warningly, "But go on."

Liao shrugged.

"Anyway, the Joker doesn't like this…He doesn't want to be framed for this murder, doesn't want people to think he cares for Miss Quinzel. So, he cuts the assassin loose. Decides that he can't afford being connected with a rogue killer? Then, just to cover his tracks anyway, he sends Carl Porla out of country?"

Gordon shrugged. It was pure speculation, not suitable to base an entire line of investigation off of.

"Perhaps." He paused. Something about the assassin and his possible liking for Harleen triggered something vague in his memory. What was it? Something about…Someone he'd... A visitor?

No, it was gone. Frustrated, Gordon sighed and looked back at Liao.

"I'll keep your theory in mind, but you know I can't do much without evidence." He said apologetically, "Which, as you know, we're rather bereft of at this point…"

Liao shrugged and left his office, not offended. Gordon watched him go, thinking hard. So, whoever this assassin was had access to the Joker and owned a very expensive pen…

A quick search on his laptop revealed just how expensive. The pen's case was made of a special, lightweight marble and was set with diamonds and sapphires. The nib and clip were silver.

"Fifty thousand dollars!" Gordon gaped. Who had that much to spend on _stationary_?!

And then it hit him. It was so simple, so easy… _Why_ hadn't he thought of it before?

"I can find the assassin." Gordon breathed. "Or at least, I know someone who can."

Maria Terri had refused to share information. It would be illegal for the GCPD to then go ahead and 'obtain' that information anyway. So, Gordon, in order to find out the identity of the assassin, was going to need to rely on someone who didn't bother too much with the ambiguous term 'illegal'.

* * *

Jim Nguyen was basically a nice guy. He was fairly smart, never hit his wife or kids and if he had spare change, he'd give it to the homeless guy who begged near his favourite coffee shop.

The problem was his brother. The kid had had a major drug problem, heroin specifically. That is, until Jim had found him and sent him to rehab. Unfortunately, that act of kindness was turning out to be burning through Jim's money faster then a gasoline fuelled flame.

So, he'd wincingly turned to crime. Right now, he was acting as a lookout for a small time gang whilst they robbed a TV shop. For his role in the proceedings, he would receive 10% of the 'proceeds'. It didn't seem like a lot, but considering he was pulling off about five of these robberies an evening, he made enough to balance his brother's rehab costs and his own bills and expenses.

"Are you guys almost done?" He whispered into a walkie talkie.

"No! Now get back to watching Nguyen!"

Sighing, Jim looked up and down the alley he was standing in. Nothing. All was just wet, cold, stinking concrete and rubbish. There was-

Wait. Nguyen froze. For a split second, he thought he saw a shadow flit from behind a dumpster down one end of the alley. Not quite worried yet, Nguyen peered into the dark. He thought that maybe, just maybe he saw it again…

Was it a person? What if it was a rival mobster, coming to try and stake his claim? Nguyen bit his bottom lip nervously. He had a knife on him, but he really didn't want to use it on anyone. He wasn't a killer, he just needed some money. Hell, he even hated watching the bugs die after he sprayed them with insecticide.

"H-hey!" He called out, "If anyone's there, they better come out now! I'm armed and there are a whole lotta gunslinger gangsters just round the corner!"

There was no reply (had he honestly expected one?), but suddenly, the darkness seemed even more dark and intimidating then before. Pressing around him in an almost corporal sensation. Nervous now, Nguyen took an uneasy step back. Something rattled on a low rooftop to his left suddenly, he whirled around.

Nothing, still nothing. Fear growing, by the second, Nguyen backed himself into a corner, nearly knocking a rusty trashcan over in the process. Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like he was being stared at right that minute. His skin prickled uneasily.

And then, a shadow began to creep up the alley wall towards him slowly. It was too dark to see what was causing it, but Jim assumed the worst. In his mind, a thousand painful deaths were approaching him.

"N-no!" He called out, "Stay back! I don't want to hurt you, I don't-"

"_Mrrow." _A large tabby cat prowled up to his feet and plonked itself on the ground. It eyed Jim in amusement, or so it seemed. Relieved, and a little embarrassed, he reached down to scratch the animal between its pointy little ears.

"I guess I was hearing things." He muttered to himself.

"Not quite."

Jim barely had time to open his mouth in shock at the sound of the voice coming from the dark before an enormous, solid blackness suddenly fell quite literally from the sky and landed before him.

"Cứt." Jim gasped in Vietnamese, looking at the man before him. In his fear and adrenalin rush, he felt his control of the English language slip."N-no! I am good man! Please!"

The man advanced on him, eyes narrowed behind his mask.

"So good you'd work for criminals?" He rasped, "So good you'd stab somebody?"

To Jim's shame, he realised he's taken his knife out and was holding it at his side loosely. Trembling from fear, he threw it to the ground and waved his hands in front of him.

"No no!" He cried, "See? I am good man! I just want money!"

"You chose the wrong way to get it." With those words, the man raised his arm and from some sort of valve in his gauntlet came a jet of gas. Almost immediately after his first breath of it, Jim began to become drowsy.

"I never stab Batman." He slurred, almost slipping into his native tongue. "You my kid's hero. I never…stab…"

Batman managed to stop Nguyen from hitting the ground quickly, gently lowering him to the ground.

"Glad to hear it." He muttered, straightening up. He had a whole bunch of 'gunslinger gangsters' to deal with next, apparently.

That is, until he looked up to the night sky. That changed his plans a little.

"What are you doing Gordon?" Batman murmured to himself before looking back at Nguyen, who was barely conscious.

"Tonight's your lucky night," he told the sleepy man mildly, "But it won't always be. Don't let me find you out here again."

"Noo." Jim muttered before passing out altogether. Batman surveyed him for a moment longer before disappearing into the night.

* * *

Gordon was an intelligent man, thus he knew that what he was doing was risky, very much so. All it took was one overly inquisitive civilian, and he was caught out, busted…

"I'm guessing this isn't a social call." The hoarse, low voice he'd been hoping (praying?) for sounded behind him. Relieved, Gordon turned around.

"No, it isn't." He told Batman, eyeing the caped crusader warily. The masked man had an impeccable sense of balance, but the way he stood right on the very edge of the roof made him nervous. It was several hundred feet straight down if he were to fall. Gordon didn't care if this guy _was_ the Batman, he didn't trust human balance, not when gravity and heights were working in sync…

"What can I do for you then?"

Gordon resisted the urge to blush. The following request was, well, odd to say the least.

"Are you familiar with Terri Tech?"

"Yes." Batman replied immediately, "Terri Tech is a large company and has several links with Wayne Enterprises… Why?"

"Well, we have a lead on…" Gordon paused. He realised that Batman knew nothing of the case at all. It was hard to share information when you were supposed to arrest the other person on sight. "The Joker's been making trouble; we think he's been hiring an assassin to do his dirty work outside of Arkham. The only link we have to his identity is a pen… A very expensive pen that comes from Terri Tech only."

Batman hesitated, obviously unsure where this was going. Eventually he stirred.

"Terri Tech is involved in almost as many branches as Wayne Enterprises." He said slowly, "But I assume you're only interested in their personal equipment and tools branch?"

Gordon couldn't help but raise a brow. He hadn't known all this.

"Yes." He said slowly, "But the problem is information…Maria Terri refuses to give the customer list for purchasers of this pen…"

Batman gave him a strange look suddenly.

"Is this the one made of marble and it has diamonds in it?"

"Yes. Why do you-?"

"I…Know someone who owns one." Batman coughed awkwardly, "Not the person you're looking for mind you."

"Uh-huh… Well, I need you to get the customer list for this pen." Gordon said lamely. The whole situation felt ridiculous, but it was necessary nevertheless. He just prayed Batman wouldn't think this was some sort of industrial espionage thing. He was also a little interested as to which of Gotham's elite had a personal relationship with the Batman…

Batman smirked suddenly.

"You don't have police hackers who are up to the job?"

Gordon shrugged.

"Probably, but it's sort of-"

"Illegal." Batman finished. He was silent for a minute before looking at the machine next to Gordon. "How many of these do you have?"

"Just this one." Gordon replied, turning to survey the Bat Signal he'd secretly stored after the original had been smashed. "I chose this building because it's abandoned and nobody…"

He trailed off as he turned around, seeing Batman had disappeared.

"Nice to see you too." Gordon muttered. Then, he threw a tarpaulin over the Bat Signal and walked down the fire escape. He still had at least another three hours of work to do tonight.

* * *

"What is that?" Alfred surveyed the laceration on Bruce's upper left arm speculatively. "Did a tiger maul you?"

"That would be a very sharp nailed woman on meth actually." Bruce dabbed antiseptic on the wound, wincing at the stinging sensation. "Who also tried to mug an elderly man. Who also had the offensive vocabulary to make a sailor blush. I've never heard the F-word spoken in connection to me so many times before."

"Of course sir." Alfred gave a grin. "You always did have a way with the ladies."

"Perhaps, but she wasn't my type." Bruce pulled on a black polo neck shirt and a brown jacket over that. He didn't have anything planned for today; it felt nice not to have to wear business suits.

"Drug addict?"

"No, red head." Bruce gave a grin and yawned. "Is Lucious busy today?"

"Not to the best of my knowledge sir." Alfred replied, passing Bruce his usual morning protein drink. "Would you like me to call ahead for a meeting?"

Bruce nodded, too engaged in gulping his drink down to reply properly. Alfred smiled and took his empty glass, placing it on a tray. It was so nice to see Bruce look enthusiastic and _happy_ for once.

"Would your meeting be Enterprise related or otherwise?" He asked as Bruce picked up his car keys from his bedside table. As part of his playboy act, he'd bought a new car to replace the Lamborghini that'd been damaged trying to save Coleman Reese. Truthfully, Bruce loved his new Bugatti Veyron to bits, even beyond what was necessary for the cameras.

"Otherwise." Bruce called over his shoulder as he hurried from the room to his precious car. "And if that woman calls…"

"The Swedish supermodel sir?"

"Yes, her…If she calls, please, _please_ make an excuse. She is so annoying…Calls me 'Bruciekins'…"

Alfred had to disguise a laugh as his young master left the apartment.

* * *

"Bruce." Lucious smiled warily. "I didn't think you had any reason to come in today."

"Aren't you happy to see me?" Bruce laughed, reclining in the comfortable guest chair in Lucious' office.

"Never that." Lucious returned the grin, authentically this time. "It's just, we have important guests at the moment, and if you were to be found napping in a corner or something similar…"

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"No one is ever going to forgive me that one, are they?"

"Afraid not." Lucious shrugged. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I spoke to Gordon last night." Bruce began. He noted the raised eyebrows and questioning look in Lucious' expression. "Yes, in that context… He has a request."

"Bruce…" Lucious looked uneasy now. "I told you that that machine…That was my resignation. The Joker's behind bars, crime is at an all time low…"

"I know." Bruce said quickly, "But this is important. Even behind bars the Joker is still proving dangerous. He's been hiring an assassin to… Well, I guess this the assassin is the Joker's equivalent to an errand boy."

"What has that got to do with me?"

"Well, there's a way to track the assassin."

"Oh." Lucious sighed and rubbed the side of his face thoughtfully. It was an oddly reassuring gesture. "Electronically… Why can't the Police Department do this themselves?"

Bruce winced and looked sad suddenly.

"Gordon called Batman…Batman is a villain… As in-"

"It's not legal." Lucious felt bad for Bruce. He knew that making Batman Gotham's villain was the best thing for the city, but it hurt all the same. No one _liked_ to be cast out from the warm, admiring glow into the cold realm of hatred after all. "I see…What am I looking for?"

"A customer list." Bruce quickly outlined the idea of using the pen to find the assassin's identity. "See, if you cross-reference the list of names by the right parameters-"

"Easy access to the Joker, large and frequent income, possible existing relationship with Harleen…"

"-Yes… Well, if you do that, surely the right name should be easy to find?" Bruce asked, wondering why he was so desperate to end this problem before it really even developed. Maybe it was because he had a feeling of grim certainty that if the Joker was involved, it _would_ develop, and it _would_ be bad.

"Hmm, hopefully." Lucious drummed his fingertips against his desk briefly in a thoughtful gesture. He quickly turned to his computer and began to type into it. His fingers moved in a blur, like a professional pianist's. "Just give me a moment…"

Bruce shrugged and looked around Lucious' office. He was always struck by how despite it's cleanliness, modern furnishings and spaciousness, it really wasn't that nice of a room. Maybe that was because Lucious always had the air conditioning on too high, or maybe it was the complete lack of any personal touches, no hints the man who resided in it. It gave Bruce a weird sense of floating in an empty space with no point to fix himself upon.

"Well." Lucious leant back from his desk suddenly, an amused expression on his wise countenance. "I got in, but it was a little harder then I expected… Terri Tech are a very large corporation, but their computer security was remarkable nevertheless."

"But you got the customer list?"

"Sort of." Lucious pursed his lips for a moment, obviously annoyed by something. "Terri is quite…organized. She seems to know this list potentially could be externally accessed, so instead of a list of names, we have a list of cell phone numbers."

"That's right." Bruce suddenly remembered. "We simply gave our numbers in to a manufacturer, and we received a call when the items we requested were complete."

"I thought I saw your number on the list." Lucious said wryly, "I thought it more polite not to say anything."

Bruce allowed himself a brief smile before accepting the printout list that Lucious offered him. He scanned quickly through the list, concentrating on those that were familiar.

"Do you have a red pen?" He asked, never taking his eyes off the list, "So I can cross off the numbers I know are incorrect?"

Lucious nodded and for the next few minutes there was near silence as Bruce moved his way down through the page of numbers. Many of them were familiar, associated with the rich and famous denizens of Gotham whom he'd met through his playboy façade. Those were the first he crossed off as these people would neither have the moral fallibility nor the intelligence needed to work with the Joker. Eventually, after ten or so minutes, only three numbers were left.

"Are any of these familiar to you?" Bruce showed Lucious the numbers, his eyes fixed on the other man. After a moment, Lucious nodded and pointed out the one in the middle.

"That's Doctor Vahns' number," He said quickly, "I recognise it from our conversations regarding the security upgrades you're funding… You don't suppose…?"

"No." Bruce shook his head sharply; certain this was not the man they were searching for. "The Joker is playing games here…He wouldn't want it to end so quickly, before he really has the opportunity to mess with our heads. The assassin will be a much more…Well, to use the old cliché, they'll be the last person we'd expect."

"Well, we have two numbers left." Lucious said slowly, "And it gave me an idea…Whoever we're looking for has access to the Joker. Only one place grants that, correct?"

Suddenly, Bruce understood exactly what Lucious was saying.

"Whoever the assassin is, they work for Arkham." He said in sudden grim determination. "I can find them."

"Can you?" Lucious asked in sudden scepticism, "Remember, Bruce Wayne is a playboy, his world is a million miles away from this. Also, Batman is an outlaw; Arkham would only let you in so long as you were wearing a straitjacket."

Bruce was silent for a moment, considering his options. Then, he looked up and Lucious felt his heart miss a beat. The expression on Bruce's face was pained, but resolute.

"Bruce Wayne may be a playboy," He said with quiet strength, "But he still feels anger and sadness. I have a right to see the man who killed Rachel and Harvey, two of my close friends. They'll let me into Arkham to visit the Joker and whilst I'm in there I can search for the assassin."

"Bruce," Lucious interceded quickly, "They might let you in, but don't do it. You don't…shouldn't put yourself through that. The Joker is behind bars, you can rid yourself of his evil now. Why restart all he did to you all over again? There has to be another way, there-"

"Isn't." Bruce shook his head. "Or if there is, it'll take too long. The Joker is coming back Lucious, I can feel it. I want to stop him before he becomes what he once was. To do that, I might have to make some sacrifices, put myself through pain, but it's worth it if I can save this city from utter destruction at the hands of the Joker. Gotham surely can't take a second appearance from him. Do you think it can?"

Lucious looked at Bruce levelly for a long moment. The office was thick with the grimness, the sadness of the situation. There was a gravity between the two that hadn't been there only moments before.

"No." He said eventually, looking down in a universal gesture of defeat, "It surely can't."

"I'll make the call." Bruce said, getting to his feet. He paused in the doorway briefly, looking at Lucious. The older man returned his gaze, wearing an expression that suggested he predicted a turbulent result to Bruce's plan.

"Good luck." He said to the Wayne heir quietly. Then, once Bruce left, he shook his head and upon turning back to his computer, muttered, "But I don't think it'll be enough."

* * *

**So, I hope you guys liked all this. Here's my questions for this chapter:**

**1)Do you guys have the feeling of the story beginning to get more complicated and beginning to become more intense? I was hoping to have a portrayed a sense of a storm building, but I don't know if I got that right... :(**

**2) What do you think will happen to Harleen next?**

**3)A few hints have been dropped as to the identity of the assassin. Any new ideas as to who he is?**

**4)Are you glad that Bruce/Batman is back in the mix?**

**Anywho, I must run. I love you all and can't wait to hear from you ^^  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, I apologise for the slow update. Hope you like this chapter anyway though!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nine, Ways and Means**

_Maybe I can do it  
If I put my back into it  
I can leave you if I wanted  
But there's nowhere else that I can go_

_Maybe I won't suffer  
If I find a way to love here  
I'd be lying to myself  
But there is no way out that I can see _**Snow Patrol**

* * *

Harleen felt roughly like her insides were trying to shred their way into outside existence. Her nerves were stretched as tight as the wires on a suspension bridge and unlike those giant, steel structures, she felt like she could snap at any moment.

'_Wouldn't have anything to do with the fact you're about to break dozens of laws all at once, would it?' _That damn voice was back again, snidely poking at her mentally.

"Shut up!" She whined, putting everything she was going to need into her bag. Car keys, cash, Bus Pass, kitchen knife, screwdriver and other assorted tools for the more technical side of things…

"Shit!" Harleen exclaimed suddenly. She just realised she'd forgotten something…Something rather crucial. With a wince, she took about twenty dollars of the money in the bag out and put it in her pocket. Then, she took one last look around her apartment (and fair enough too…There was every chance she wouldn't see it again), before heading out the door.

Hopefully the party shop would still be open at this time of the night. Her life may or may not have been depending on it.

* * *

"You're kidding right?"

Gordon knew his investigation was an unusual once and perhaps rather inappropriate sounding considering the rather dire nature of the Joker. However, he couldn't help the way this investigation's only lead was a stationary item and all subsequent probing was being fed to them by a vigilante…

"No actually." He replied to Liao, "I am using the Intel Batman supplies."

Liao clicked his tongue and shot Gordon a look that was part admiring and part disbelieving, as if he accepted Gordon's daring, but saw only disaster to reward it.

"Garcia will tear your head off when he finds out."

"Well, I was actually working on the basis '_if_ he finds out'." Gordon said warily, eyeing Liao's reaction.

"Holy…" Liao shook his head and now gave Gordon a look that quite clearly questioned his sanity. "You're insane. Tolerably so perhaps, but I have to say, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for any money."

"So you're not tempted to, uh, turn me in?"

Liao's lips twitched as he realised he was being tested.

"Of course not," He replied in amusement, "My youngest has posters and drawings of Batman all over his walls…I would be stir fried and eaten for dinner if he found out I'd tried to arrest Batman."

Gordon smiled and leant back in his seat whilst Liao leant forward in his.

"So, I was just given a list of likely names." Gordon began, "Batman says he's targeting the main suspect personally, but he's given us all the prosecuting material so that we can make the actual arrest and have it stick in court."

"So what are we doing in the mean time?"

"Before, he mentioned he knew someone who owned one of these pens," Gordon gestured to where he'd called up a picture on his computer. "I want to know which of Gotham's big faces has a personal relationship with one of the most wanted men in the city."

Only now did something like unhappiness cross the detective's face. Gordon knew why: Batman was trusting them, not only with his information, but also with his safety and existence. It felt wrong to try and go behind his back to find out what he was doing when he wasn't saving Gotham or tracking down assassins.

"I know." Gordon said quickly, trying to look sympathetic to his friend's discomfort, "But I know this is important. What if, God forbid, something was to happen to the Batman? If the only way to save him was, I don't know, to use information only a friend would have?"

Liao still didn't look one hundred percent convinced, but he shrugged anyway and got on with it.

"So, we need to find a likely name in this list…" He said thoughtfully, "Hmm. What sort of criteria are we using to reference names?"

"Well, income first of all." Gordon said slowly, "Whoever Batman's friend is, I get the feeling they're supplying him with a lot of cold hard currency. So, I'd be on the look out for any names who earn enough to supply a vigilante and still be able to maintain their lifestyle."

Liao pulled out a notebook and pen and made a note of that.

"Okay, income…What's next?"

"Social prominence." Gordon was firm in this point. "Batman's demonstrated a pretty close attachment to the rich and famous of Gotham. Whoever's mingling with him needs to be pretty high up on the social pecking order. I'm talking names from the Gotham Times social pages."

Liao suddenly put his notebook down and gave Gordon a strange look, like he'd suddenly seen a ghost or some other mythological creature. Gordon frowned at him, perplexed.

"What?"

Liao swallowed and licked his lips. Gordon didn't like the gesture; it reminded him of the Joker too much. Maybe, that was why the Joker did it: he was constantly in the grip of a self-created epiphany.

"You know, there's really only one person on the list that matches those criteria." Liao said quietly in an almost frightened voice. "Someone who…Might not just be _helping_ Batman, but might _be_ Batman."

Gordon felt something akin to simultaneous shock and excitement stir within him. He thought it to be like the first time he ever saw a lion in the zoo: it was something terrifying, but vaguely exhilarating to be able to see this symbol of might, but on a much more personal scale.

"Who?"

Liao took a shuddering breath in and did his best to meet his boss' eyes.

"Bruce Wayne." He said. "The playboy."

Gordon found he could only say one thing.

"Shit."

* * *

"Hello, Arkham Asylum, Patricia speaking."

Bruce paused, checking for what felt like the millionth time to be sure he wanted to go through with this. He'd reached for the phone a few times, only to retreat at the last moment as new fears and doubts sprung to mind.

"Hello, this Bruce Wayne." He said slowly, wondering how the receptionist would react.

She handled the surprise surprisingly well, better then he'd expected. True, she seemed speechless for a moment, but when her voice finally came, it was remarkably stable.

"Hello Mister Wayne, what can I do for you today?"

"I need to speak with whoever's manages appointments and the like." Bruce knew how suspicious, bizarre and just utterly weird this must sound. He couldn't help it though, this had to be done.

"Oh, that would mean Director Banks most probably." Patricia did sound a little perplexed, but she was a true professional, managing all manner of surprises with a cool and level head. "He's just down the other end of the building right now and-"

And that's when something a little odd happened. Bruce heard something like a mix between a person falling over and a door being slammed through the line and suddenly heard Patricia's voice talking to someone else, presumably a person in her office.

"_Harleen! What are you…?"_

A longer pause, Bruce assumed she was listening to what this 'Harleen', this troublesome intern psychoanalyst, was saying.

"_Oh…"_ Patricia's voice was shaky, but still resolute, _"Well, ok."_

"Patrcia?" Bruce interceded here, a little annoyed at being promptly forgotten about. "Are you still there?"

"Oh, sorry." Patricia sounded startled. She really had forgotten he was on the line. "I was just talking to a colleague of mine."

"That's alright," Bruce sighed, already regretting ever making this call. "So, I need to make an appointment with Director Banks. Can you put me through to him please?"

"I'm sorry, I'm a little busy at the moment." Patricia suddenly sounded scared and that was when Bruce's alarm bells started ringing, "I'll get back to you in a-"

Dial tone.

For a minute, Bruce just stared at his cell phone, wondering what the hell had just happened. Then, logic and the colder, more detached part of his mind took over.

Something was happening in Arkham Asylum. Patricia had sounded frightened. Harleen was involved. Arkham was full of homicidal lunatics.

All in all, not a good scenario.

Bruce quickly stood and strode out into the informal living room that Alfred usually spent his time in when he wasn't doing something for Bruce.

"Alfred, I need to go out to Arkham."

Alfred heard the determination and grim quality in his employer's voice straight away. He got out of the armchair he'd been sitting in.

"Do you need a driver?" He asked, wondering what was happening.

"No," Bruce shook his head. "I'm going on my own. I need you to keep an eye on the news and call me if anything comes up whilst I'm gone. I'm not sure, but I think something might be about to happen."

Alfred nodded.

"Be careful Master Wayne."

Bruce nodded and grabbed a nearby jacket.

"Hopefully I won't need to."

* * *

"Why didn't we see it before Cheng?" Gordon demanded as he raced through Gotham traffic towards Bruce's apartment. "It's so _obvious_."

"We were busty trying to stop corruption, to save the city," Liao replied, holding onto his seat as they took a sharp corner at nearly double the posted speed limit.

"But still." Gordon looked anguished. "This is…We should've known."

"It certainly would have helped things," Liao agreed dryly, ignoring the way a red Ford nearly hit them as it skidded to avoid being sideswiped, "To be able to work alongside him on a much closer level."

Gordon just shook his head and slammed on the brakes. They were at the apartment. Together, the pair hurried inside. They blatantly disregarded the receptionist (much to her indignation) and caught the elevator to the penthouse.

Standing outside Bruce's front door, Gordon took a bracing breath in. Then, he knocked. Firmly and authoritatively, but not obnoxiously.

An elderly man answered the door, brows shooting up as he regarded the two Detective and Police Commissioner before him.

"Can I help you?"

Gordon decided being direct would be the best approach.

"We know who Bruce is." He said, "We don't want to cause him any trouble, but we need to speak to him now."

* * *

It had started raining. It was an obstacle come too late though, Bruce was already at Arkham. He sprinted from his car to cover, using a key fob to lock the Veyron behind him.

To his surprise however, the front doors' electronic locks were engaged. Bruce thought he could hear annoyed yelling from inside. Experimentally, he rapped on the doors. There was no answer though and it was too dark inside to see any people.

Now beginning to grow seriously concerned, Bruce turned to the nearby woods. He had a secret 'mini Batcave' inside there. Considering the number of adversaries he'd generated through the Asylum, it'd seemed a prudent decision to have a suit and set of resources available nearby.

He just wished he hadn't needed to.

* * *

Harleen Quinzel was terrified. Harley Quinn, however, was excited. Both of them knew what they were doing was dangerous though, so they proceeded down the pitch black corridors with caution.

After reading through the poster, it'd been easy enough to come up with a plan. First of all, she'd gone at the Asylum's central fuse box with a wrench, utterly destroying the lights system. Even the backup generators were destroyed. As it'd turned out, it'd been quite…fun immersing herself in such utter chaos and wanton destruction.

Then, Harley (and it had been Harley at this point. Harleen would have been too scared) had hurried to where Patricia was on the phone. She burst in, mouthing off about the blackout and how there was a possible security problem and that she'd needed to hang up on whomever she was speaking to. When Patricia had done that, Harley promptly hit her over the head with the wrench, knocking her out cold. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Even bludgeoning her ex-friend on the head had its merits these days.

And now she was creeping along the corridors in a blackness darker then midnight with a bag full of goodies both from home and some she'd picked up on the way here.

Every now and then, she'd have to hide as a guard or orderly raced by, some brandishing a flashlight, some without. It wasn't overly difficult going; everyone was panicking over the blackout. After the last breakout, everyone had massive fears of patients escaping.

Harley giggled, thinking that a mass breakout was the last thing they should be worrying about considering what she was planning.

But then, she arrived at her destination and her laughter promptly died in her throat unborn. The solid door stared at her blankly, the small plexiglass window encouraging a peek. On her tiptoes, Harley did just that.

The cell was empty, or at least, she couldn't see anyone in the bed or near the door which was all she could see. Even that was indistinct due to the darkness. There was nothing for it, she'd have to go in.

Swiping her ID card, Harley let herself into the Joker's cell.

She just had time to register the sound of her own frantic heart before suddenly, without warning; a figure loomed out of the dark and pinned her against the wall. Before she could scream or make so much as a single sound, a hand was clamped over her mouth.

"Don't say a, uh, word." The Joker's breath smelt of nothing to her surprise. No expected odours of decay and filth, only a hot, dry air on her face. Her wince was one of surprise rather then revolt. "Don't."

Then, something tugged at her plastic ID badge. There was a snapping sound in the dark and suddenly, a sharp, jagged edge was at her throat. The Joker's face leered at her through the shadows like a Jack O Lantern's, trying to identify her through the dark.

Frightened she would have her throat slit before she could reveal her purpose here, Harley managed to dislodge the hand covering her hand and call out.

"Don't hurt me!" She squealed, "It's me, I'm here to help!"

And then, realisation dawned on the Joker's features. Harley wasn't certain, but she thought she saw a sadistic, terrible smile cross his face. Certainly there was a quiet giggle. She wasn't sure whether or not that boded well for her. He was unpredictable, a smile could be death and delight all at once.

"Harleen Quinzel," He mocked her in a near whisper. His words seemed to hiss through the air like snakes. "Ha_rrr_leen."

"No." She whispered back, an odd intensity filling her with her words. It was almost like taking the final plunge over some invisible yet entirely corporeal boundary within her tangled, confused mind. "Harley. Harley Quinn."

And now a loud laugh, delighted and almost childlike. Admittedly, not attractive in the way of a child, but full of the same sheer delight and bewitching bliss.

"Harley Quinn! The clown girl… My little harlequin toy." The Joker giggled. "You're helping…"

A pause and then a hand pinched her face, gripped her chin and drew it close to his. Harley saw the smile for certain now: feral and giving a chilling warning against playing with him. He was the one who played with her, not the other way around. If she wanted to survive, it had to be that way.

"How?" He snarled, eyes gleaming in the dark like shadowed mirrors.

"I b-brought a bag." Harley stuttered, shrugging the knapsack from her shoulder. "There's k-keys to my car and money and…"

"Annnddd?" He pressed her, running the sharp edge of the snapped ID badge against her lips teasingly. The contact of the sharp edge of his coarse yet agile fingers caused her to shiver and the hairs sprung up on her arms.

"And…And face paints." She said it so quietly she wasn't sure he heard. "They're all in my bag."

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, footsteps and shouting started. It sounded like they were coming towards the cell the Joker and Harley were in.

"Good job Harley," The Joker giggled at her, removing the sharp edge. "Love your work. You, uh, you just made it through this time."

Harley sighed in relief and a small smile flittered onto her face. She started to say something, but at that moment, The Joker grabbed her by the forearm and before she could struggle free, swung her round hard.

Harley just had time to see the wall rushing up to meet her before she smashed into it. She collapsed to the ground, starts chasing shadows across her vision. The Joker whispered something in her ear, but she didn't understand. She was too dizzy, too stunned.

Maybe it was something like, 'see you soon'. Harley didn't know. She passed out, sprawled like a broken doll on the ground.

* * *

Once he was in his suit, it was easy enough for Batman to break down the front doors to the Asylum. Hampered for a moment by the dark, he switched to the night vision filter in his mask. Everything was suddenly much brighter, albeit presented in a rather irritating shade of red.

Moving quickly, he saw reception desk. Patricia wasn't there, so he hurried to the front office. Again, the door was locked, so he broke it down.

To his shock, he saw Patricia lying on the ground, blood oozing slowly from some unidentified wound above her hairline. Although he didn't want to be distracted from his main task, Batman moved closer. She was breathing slowly, and her pulse was present.

Fine, she was fine. He hurried back out of the office and into the main part of the Asylum. Occasionally, a guard carrying a flashlight would run by, but it was easy to avoid them. But then, he saw someone ahead of him, creeping along the corridor in much the same way.

A woman carrying a backpack. Somehow, Batman knew this was Harleen Quinzel. He narrowed his eyes, wondering exactly what she was doing, trying to avoid being seen. He was just about to grab her from behind when suddenly; something flickered in the corner of his eyes.

He lashed out with his elbow. Spinning around and completing the move with a follow up kick, Batman saw he'd managed to catch someone who'd been trying to sneak up on _him_.

'_God, how many people are there creeping around right now?!' _A wild, errant thought flittered through his head, _'Lots of creeps creeping around…Not funny…'_

He ignored that wayward thought and grabbed the person (on closer inspection, a man) by the shirtfront. He knew he must be scary, terrifying even, in the dark like this.

"What's going on?" He snarled.

"I don't know." To his surprise, the man didn't sound frightened so much as calm with a perplexed edge. "The lights, cameras and phones are all out. The patient's cells are still all locked though."

Then Batman recognised the face before him. Director Banks.

"Why were you following me?" He demanded, putting the man down.

Banks shrugged and straightened his shirt and tie.

"You're a wanted man wondering around in Arkham during a blackout. It's not the most normal of situations. Now, what are _you_ doing here?"

Batman ignored the Director and looked around. Harleen had vanished from sight, too caught up in her business to hear the two of them fighting.

"Who are you looking for?" Banks squinted, trying to make out which direction Batman was looking in. "Did you see something?"

"Where did Harleen Quinzel go?" Batman whipped around, glaring at Banks, daring the shorter and thinner man to defy him. To be honest, the man's lack of fear or wariness for him irked him a little. Surely he wasn't getting _used_ to be seen as a symbol of fear?

"I don't know, I didn't see her." Banks was lying, Batman could tell. "She's treating the Joker, maybe she-"

And that was what did it. A mention of the Joker. Banks trailed off, realising what he'd said. For a split second, panic raced through the man's eyes before calculating calm took over.

"No!" He shouted, eyes widening in an exaggerated motion of distress. "She's going to get herself killed!"

Before Batman could say or do anything, Banks took of running down the corridor towards the Joker's cell. Batman followed, determined to sort all of this confusion out there and then.

* * *

"Why was he coming here?" Gordon demanded as they pulled up outside Arkham Asylum. There was about a dozen cars altogether, a mass of squealing brakes, wailing sirens and flashing lights.

"I'm not sure." Alfred said tersely, eyeing the Asylum warily, "He didn't say anything but that he thought something was about to happen. He said to watch the news just in case and call him."

"There's his car." Gordon noted as they climbed out of the police car, "He's not in it."

"Commissioner!" A uniformed officer called from a few metres away. "The front doors have been broken open!"

Gordon felt dread and panic settle within his bones. Bruce was right: something _was_ going to happen, he could feel it.

"Get a team in there _now_!"

* * *

The Joker heard the footsteps rapidly approaching. He narrowed his eyes, restraining an urge to hiss his dislike of the entire situation. Instead, he moved to a nearby THTutility closet and hid in there, keeping the door slightly open so he could watch the proceedings.

As he did that, two figures burst into sight. The Joker knew them both, but he only had eyes for one of B

Batman. Batsy. His favourite plaything. Here. Already. Hmm, not exactly good…Amusing yes, helpful no. Batman, man with a plan. All his frustration, anger and amusement scattered his already chaotic thoughts into downward spirals. Everything came up in fractured shards before being swallowed into the abyss once more.

Fortunately for the Joker however, Batman headed straight into his cell. He saw Harleen's unconscious figure straight away and snapped something at Banks. Banks replied by shouting out for help into the corridor and then leaving the cell, looking around.

"Ma_rrr_shall." The Joker hissed so quietly the word was almost silent. He gestured to the man, wondering if he could even be seen in the dark.

Apparently so, Banks edged over, trepidation entering his eyes.

"What's going on?" He whispered, almost panicking, "Batman is just-"

The Joker lunged forward, grabbing the man by the throat and brandishing the makeshift knife he'd created from Harley's ID badge.

"Distract him." He snapped, "Obviously. Or I'll make the sentence here awaiting you look like, uh, look like you've _died_ and gone to heaven!"

Banks nodded quickly and moved away as he was released. The Joker hurried away, just in time to hear Banks shouting behind him.

"The Joker! He's running for the main entrance!"

The Joker gave a quietly, cruelly amused laugh before continuing on his way to where he knew Harleen would have hidden her car.

* * *

Gordon left Alfred with a few other officers and quickly followed the team into the Asylum. Patricia was just being dragged out of the reception office, only just conscious, when there was a shout from someone further along the building.

"The Joker!" He's running for the main entrance!"

The response was immediate and expected. Everyone's faces paled and all around, firearms were ripped from holsters and pointed into the maw of the darkness.

Just then, a figure came rushing out of the dark. Gordon saw who it was, opened his mouth to scream out an order and-

_Bang!_

"_Stop_!"

It all happened at once. Gordon screamed out for his men to stop just as Banks came rushing out from the dark, only to be shot once in the abdomen. Patricia screamed loudly, startling a few people. Her hoarse, horrified cry leant the entire scenario a ghoulish, gory air. The sound her horror reverberated through the air, as powerful as a shockwave.

Gordon didn't react, staring at Banks through widened eyes. The man stumbled forward a step before an expression of surprise crossed his face. Then, he fell face first to the ground where blood began to pool around him in a metallic smelling, sticky puddle.

Somewhere to the left of him, the officer who'd shot Banks was stuttering and babbling out words of surprise and horror. He was lead away gently, obviously in shock. Gordon moved forward slowly, feeling like this was all a dream, a very bad dream. The other officers suddenly began to mutter and melt away as another, more recognisable figure appeared.

"What happened?" Batman's raspy voice seemed surprised if such a thing was possible. His figure emerged from the shadows like a phantom rising from the grave. "Did he have a weapon? I thought we agreed on a legal prosecution…"

"It was an accident." Gordon said and then gave a gasp as he looked down at his feet. "He's still alive!"

Marshall Banks spluttered and dark, almost black blood trickled in a grotesque trail from the corner of his mouth. Gordon and Batman propped him up a little, knowing he had maybe minutes left.

"Marshall," Gordon knew this man had done bad, terrible things, but he couldn't help but feel a pity for the man. To die so young with so much potential…It was a horrible waste. "Marshall, its Commissioner Gordon. Can you answer a question for me?"

Banks nodded sightlessly, coughing weakly. Blood splattered against Gordon's supportive arm and shirt, but he ignored it.

"Did you… Were you the Joker's assassin?"

Marshall gave a wheezy, damp sounding laugh full of bitterness.

"You're…All so, so shortsi…sighted. You don't see him for the…" He had to stop to swallow a mouthful of blood, "For what he is…He's a force of n-nature, you can't confine that, it's not…He's doing what he's supposed to do now."

Gordon felt his heart sink and a horrible desperation fill him.

"Marshall… Did you release the Joker?"

Gordon could only watch as Marshall Banks died laughing before him. Then, he looked up to see Batman walking away, obviously in the grip of his own hell spawning from the knowledge the Joker had escaped Arkham Asylum.

"We'll get him." Gordon called out, aware from the way his words echoed in the silence that it was just them now, everyone else had left. "We'll catch him."

Batman didn't respond, continuing to walk away. So, Gordon took a chance. It was the only thing he could think of. And that was a measure of how grim everything had become.

"Bruce!" He called out, clenching his eyes shut in regret for a moment. It'd come to this: tearing Gotham's last saviour's mask away with brutal claws and throwing it to the wind.

Batman seemed to twitch and then he spun around furiously, a wild expression on his face.

"I'm not-"

"Yes you are." Gordon shook his head sharply, opening his eyes once more. "Look, I'm not some sleazy reporter, looking for sensationalist rubbish to divulge to Gotham's public. It's me, Gordon, you trust me. Or at least, you should. Bruce, just listen to me."

Batman, or rather, Bruce, stood silently looking at Gordon with hard eyes. It seemed he couldn't quite decide whether to be more angry that his identity was revealed, or curious as to what Gordon had to say to him.

"We'll get him." Gordon said quietly, seeing the anger and fear of the Joker in the caped crusader's expression, "You know we will…We got him before and we can do it again."

"We got him last time because he made mistakes," Bruce said, dropping his disguise voice, "He won't make them again, you know he won't. Besides, there's another element this time. One we don't understand."

"What?"

Bruce looked down the hall to where paramedics were converging on the Joker's cell.

"Harleen Quinzel."

Gordon watched as the unconscious intern was wheeled away on a stretcher, face bloodied and bruised. He thought that perhaps she was lucky to pass through the scene unknowingly, not having to see the despair and horror before her. He also thought it was selfish of her, to do so and leave everyone else to bear the burden of death and blood.

"You think she's involved?"

"Let's go find out."

* * *

Harley was taken to Gotham General (she was lucky to go there. The hospital had become the city's best after being reconstructed and renovated) where she was in some pain, but really not too badly injured. The Joker had chipped one of her teeth, nearly broken her nose and given her the mother of all black eyes, but otherwise left her unharmed. The only injury likely to remain was an odd laceration running down her arm. Apparently, when the Joker had grabbed her forearm, he'd used the same hand that held his makeshift knife to do so.

What was really the worst part of it all was what she woke up to.

Commissioner Gordon and…

Dear sweet god, and Batman. The caped crusader was in her _hospital room_.

'_Oh god, oh god, oh god!' _She inwardly panicked, awash in her own guilt and fear and anxiety.

"Miss Quinzel." Gordon had had a sympathetic look to his face last time he'd spoken to her. That was lost to a hard, questioning expression now. "We need to speak with you."

"Uh, w-what about?" Harley carefully arranged a frightened, bewildered expression on her face.

Gordon glanced briefly at Batman and Harley felt an unexpected spurt of dislike and terror at the sight of the caped crusader. It wasn't a sensation she could explain, she just knew the man put her on edge.

"We need to talk to you about…about the Joker."

"Oh." Harley frowned in polite confusion, "I…You could have made an appointment for a week's time."

"Well, I'm afraid that's no longer an option." Gordon said grimly, "So I'm going to have to ask you straight out, do you know where the Joker has gone?"

Harley made sure her eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly.

"But…" She put her hands up to her mouth in horror, "You mean… he escaped?"

Another glance exchanged between Batman and Gordon. This time she saw disbelief in their expressions.

"Harleen-"

That irritated her.

"Harley…Harley Quinn."

Gordon looked taken aback for a moment. He quickly regained his composure however and looked at her with hard eyes.

"Harley, you were found in the Joker's cell. Care to explain that?"

"I d-don't…" Harley paused, injecting a strained, on-the-verge-of-tears note into her voice, "Oh my god… I d-don't… I can't remember!"

'_Excellent girl, lie like you've never lied before!'_

"Pardon?"

Harley pretended to begin panicking.

"I…I remember hearing something s-strange from his cell, but after t-that…Oh my god…_I can't remember what happened_!"

Her façade of hysteria must have been working because Gordon looked at her worriedly before making placating gestures with his hands.

"It's okay, we'll sort that out," He said firmly, "Now, I need you to answer a few more questions. Are you up to that?"

"O-okay." Harley looked over Gordon's shoulder quickly at Batman. He returned her stare with fathomless, indecipherable eyes. She shuddered and looked back at the Commissioner.

"How did the Joker behave prior to his escape?" He asked, looking like a man desperate for some shred of hope, some small morsel of light.

"I don't know." Harley looked down, focussing briefly at the white, hospital blanket covering her legs. "The Joker is… Well, how you describe the indescribable? He was…is utterly unpredictable."

"So, would you say the therapy sessions you administered were effective or not?"

Harley looked up sharply, glowering at Gordon abruptly.

"I can't say," She snapped, "Don't you understand? No one can…can possibly fathom the workings of the Joker's mind except himself. So I don't know if I had any effect on him! I really hope I did, but honestly…"

Gordon's brows had risen to a point level with his hairline, but genuine curiosity glimmered in his eyes.

"But honestly?"

"I don't think so." Tears were suddenly sparkling in Harley's bright blue eyes, giving them the effect of shimmering blue gems rimmed with thick lashes, "The Joker does what he wants, feels what he wants…"

"For someone whose relationship was strictly professional, you seem to harbour an awful lot of emotion for the Joker." Gordon said, testing the waters.

Harley gave him a haughty, hostile glare.

"When you spend so much time with someone you start to make connections with them. You can't help but start to feel some sort of…of bond with them!"

This one drew narrowed eyes and wary suspicion from both Gordon and Batman.

"To what extent would you say your bond existed with the Joker?"

Harley shook her head, as if trying to shake off a fly.

"No, you don't get it. It's not like, well, not like you'd invite them out for coffee or anything…It's more like, your entire professional interest becomes engulfed in this one person, they become a mystery, an intrigue, that you'd give anything to solve. I suppose it would be the same for a detective and a particularly complicated case?"

Gordon looked less then happy with the connection drawn between Harley's suspicious behaviour and the work of a detective, but he let it go without saying anything.

"Perhaps." He allowed, "So, you can not give us anything to track the Joker down?"

Harley shrugged, trying not to let her frustration and dislike her for current predicament show in her eyes or facial expression.

"I don't think so…" She thought about it, realising that if she appeared deliberately unhelpful, they would continue to pester her, "Well, actually, maybe there is something I can suggest… The Joker carves attention and infamy. He will not keep low for too long; you can expect a reappearance from him within weeks, if not days, so I'd be prepared for that. You can guarantee he will make it as dramatic and chaotic as possible."

"That's all?" Gordon looked disappointed, as if he'd been expecting the answers to all his problems to come spilling from Harley's mouth, "Nothing else?"

Harley looked contrite and hung her head.

"If I think of anything else, I will tell you." She replied, not looking up.

Although she couldn't see it, Harley heard Gordon leave the room, closing the door behind him. Harley breathed a sigh of relief and slowly, looked back up.

And promptly bit back a frightened squeal. She'd forgotten about Batman; he hadn't left with Commissioner Gordon. He stood before her now, a menacing look in his eyes. They glinted like blades from behind the mask he wore.

"What do you want?" Harley demanded shrilly, shrinking back in her bed. She pulled her legs up against her chest, the blanket pooling around her feet.

Batman surveyed her coldly for a long moment, making Harley feel as if she were choking on thick, enveloping silence. Then, he spoke.

"Be careful of what you say to Gordon, Quinn." He said grimly, "You can only tread such a thin line of distinction between truths and lie for so long before you're likely to fall."

Harley pretended to be indignant, even though her inner voice was whispering that falsehoods and acting would likely prove in vain against the Batman, that she was fighting something far beyond her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said stiffly, trying to look as cold as him. "I told you everything and I never lied about anything."

Batman gave her an icy smile that quite clearly mocked her pathetic denials.

"I'm sure." He said, "But just know this: I'll be watching you Quinn, and if Gordon has any sense, he will be too."

"Are you threatening me?" Harley demanded, thinking (praying?) that the man would leave her alone if she became offensive enough. It was all she wanted, just a moment of blessed solitude.

"No, I'm politely warning you." Batman said, a small amount of almost sadistic amusement entering his raspy voice as he strode towards the room's only window. He pulled it open and half levered himself through it, "And if that fails, then yes, I'll be threatening you."

And then, without anything else further, Batman seemed to just drop out of the window. Giving a shocked yelp, Harley rushed over to the window and looked down. She saw no crumpled body on the ground and heard no horrified passer-bys shouting. There was no sign that a fully grown man, costumed as a six foot, flying rodent, had just dropped from a window seven storeys up.

Beginning to wonder if she was going mad,

_Haha, what a delightfully amusing notion Harley Dear…_

Harley backed away from the window, shaking and pale. Looking around in no small amount of terror, she stumbled back to her hospital bed and didn't move from there for the rest of the evening.

* * *

"Marshall Banks…" Doctor Vahns shook his head sadly, "I never would have suspected him."

"I guess that was the point." Gordon said awkwardly. He'd never quite gotten the knack of delivering bad news to people. It'd made some aspects of his career difficult and less then pleasant, but that was the way of the world: everyone had to do something they didn't want to sometimes. "He was in too good a position for the Joker to pass up on…"

"Yes," Vahns said thoughtfully, "Access to the patients, to Harleen, to the Joker… Marshall was the man everyone in Arkham trusted…I don't know how I'm going to explain this to everyone."

Gordon resisted the urge to share his grumpy response with the doctor. He honestly didn't give a flying monkey's right ass cheek about what Vahns told the rest of the Asylum's staff.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find the words." Gordon said stiffly before turning back to more important matters, "Now, I need to ask you a few questions."

Well, if there was anything to be said about all of the Arkham Asylum staff, it was that none of them ever seemed to display any enthusiasm or penchant even for questions. In fact, Gordon had started to notice that as soon as he mentioned the possibility of any sort of questions, most of Arkham's staff tended to clamp their mouths shut pretty fast and give you a good ole dose of the evil eye. He was beginning to think they should patent the expression.

"What sort of questions?" Vahns asked slowly, eyeing the Commissioner suspiciously, "I have to warn you, anything of a sensitive nature and I have every right to demand legal counsel and-"

"Relax Victor-"

"_Director_ Vahns," The Doctor hissed. "Please address me formally!"

"Director Vahns." Gordon allowed, patience for the man before him quickly running out, "you can relax. I have no intention of trying to incriminate you for anything…I just need to try and gather any information that may lead to the recapture of the Joker."

"Alright." Vahns didn't seem overly placated by the Commissioner's logic, but he could hardly object to a process that might assist in getting the Joker back behind bars before he did anything too big. "What sort of questions?"

"Why haven't you been at the Asylum lately?" Gordon demanded, "From what little information we have, it seems like staff were running their own shows without you there…"

"What?" Vahns seemed at a loss for words, "But that's not protocol! There's an established chain of command for when I'm away…"

"Well, protocol certainly wasn't followed this time," Gordon replied bluntly, "And quite frankly, I don't think it's a recent thing…Tell me Vahns, how did Harley Quinn end up as the Joker's main therapist?"

"Harley…Who?"

Gordon shook himself and mentally delivered a strict reprimand.

"Pardon me…Harleen Quinzel. She's rather fond of her new nickname."

Vahns gave Gordon an incredulous look, ignoring the highly offensive previous use of his surname as a title.

"But… She loathes that name. Hates it. She nearly went psychotic when the Joker-"

"Never mind." Gordon shook his head sharply, deciding that if the Joker was so involved in all of this, he'd better start at the beginning and work his way from there, "Just answer my question."

"Harleen wasn't assigned the Joker's case; she unofficially took it over through the course of a linked Arkham investigation." Vahns paused, thinking about the issue himself, "She seemed confident in her abilities to deal with the Joker, so I guessed there could be no harm in allowing her a little time with him."

"She's an Intern!" Gordon was shocked, "She's barely past her college education! How could you possibly consider her competent for a case of the Joker's complexities! Actually, in all honesty, she shouldn't even be working in the high security ward yet!"

"Well, she managed to accelerate her passage through the normal training regime-"

"And how," Gordon interrupted suddenly, suspicion and anger abruptly gleaming unmasked in his hard eyes, "_Exactly_ did she do that? My guess is she found herself a position as your… hmm, _personal_ assistant…"

Vahns opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. The man was forced to shut his mouth once more and eye the Police Commissioner before him with barely muted smouldering fury.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you're speaking about."

"Really?" Gordon smiled icily, "And yet I think you do… Hmm, you're starting to look rather bad Vahns. I actually think that if you continue to prove uncooperative with my investigation, I might have to level corruption charges against you…"

There was a long, stifling pause. Gordon didn't back down however, knowing how close he was to cracking the man before him. If he could just start getting the real version of what'd been going on in Arkham, he knew he'd stand a better chance to capture the Joker.

Finally, Vahns stirred. Fear and frustration sparked to life in his beady little eyes and Gordon suddenly felt his triumph soured a little by irritation.

"I want my lawyer." Vahns declared stoutly before seating himself resolutely on the chair behind him. "Now."

"He's busy." Gordon replied sweetly before hauling Vahns out of his seat roughly. "And will be for awhile. Now tell me about Harleen Quinzel."

* * *

**Well, maybe this wasn't the most exciting of all chapters, but I can promise you this: things are going to be getting a lot more action packed from this point forward. Here's just a few of the things you have to look forward to:**

**1) The Joker taking a couple dozen people hostage**

**2) Harley Quinn having a homicidal tantrum**

**3) A Harley/Joker moment**

**4) Gordon remembering exactly why he's always hated dogs**

**Anyway, can't wait to hear from you all!  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Yay! I finally go this updated! I feel very relieved now... This was weighing fairly heavily on my mind. So, just for your info, this chapter is not very action packed, but it has the Joker in it, it has Gordon and Bruce/Batman having an honest, open conversation and it has the somewhat subtle mention of another character from the comics... They won't be appearing much until much later on in the story, and even then, they won't really get any limelight until the sequel (oh yeah, I'm gonna make a sequel to this!!!)... Also, the necklace Harley receives in this chapter... Just in case you're interested, I own the necklace described. However, it wasnt packaged the way it is here and I bought from a cheap little store as part of a 'Two for $10' type deal...**

**Anyway, enough from me, on with the show! Enjoy...  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Cupid is a knavish lad,  
Thus to make poor females mad.  
**A Midsummer Night's Dream, 3. 2 (Shakespeare)**

Jack shall have Jill;  
Nought shall go ill;  
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.  
**A Midsummer Night's Dream, 3. 2 (Shakespeare)

* * *

  
**

Gordon hadn't known he'd had it in him. After only seven minutes alone with the Police Commissioner, Vahns had cracked and spilt everything about Harleen Quinzel, whether it be her previous near Olympic expertise in gymnastics, her sleeping her way to the intern position or the interestingly high successful therapy rate she'd managed to build during her work at Arkham.

"So you'll leave me alone now, right?" Vahns asked edgily, rubbing his right wrist where Gordon had gripped him tightly enough to bruise. It was the only time he'd had to put hands on the doctor; it'd seemed Gordon had perfected using mere implications and verbal abuse as an effective method of coercion. "I don't need to get a lawyer or anything?"

"Fortunately for you, that is correct." Gordon eyed Vahns narrowly, "You're lucky you had what I needed."

Vahns didn't reply, looking like a sulking child. It was ridiculous, seeing a grown man with high academic distinctions pouting like a petulant three year old. However, it was just further proof of Gordon's theory that sometimes, the highly educated were perhaps the least socially apt of humankind.

"I hopefully won't be back." Gordon said, shrugging on his coat, "But just in case, don't go skipping town on me…I'll be very unpleasant if I have to come after you."

Vahns finally stirred, a flicker of fear entering his eyes.

"Why are you so interested in Harleen?" The man asked suddenly, "What has she done?"

With a jolt, Gordon realised he hadn't actually told the doctor about any of the events that had just transpired at the man's place of employment and responsibility. All he'd said was that Marshall Banks had been highly corrupt and working with the Joker. He'd never mentioned that the Joker had actually escaped Arkham or anything like that.

"Commissioner?" Vahns looked at him askance, obviously suspecting further unpleasantness.

Gordon wondered what to say. He knew that Vahns should know the threat Gotham was facing, but at the same time, he really wanted to keep this out of the media for as long as humanly possible and truth be told, Vahns had a reputation for being more then happy to drop a few hints in return for a few bucks. The last thing he needed right now was to be fending off rabid, vicious journalists who'd love nothing more then to hang him by his balls out to dry.

At the same time however, as soon as Vahns called or spoke to anyone from work, he'd know anyway. What choice did Gordon have?

"There's been an incident at Arkham…" He hesitated a second more, "And an escape."

"Who?" Vahns exploded, looking livid, "And why wasn't I notified immediately?!"

"You weren't notified because we had to make certain priorities to suit the circumstances." Gordon said harshly, "And informing you fell further down the list."

"Well can you at least tell me who escaped then?"

"It…" Gordon was torn asunder by indecision. Legally, he had to tell Vahns, but by doing so, he might throw Gotham into a state of chaos and panic. But again, what right did he have to hide something of such gravity from the city's inhabitants? Didn't they have a right to be forewarned of the danger they were all in?

"The Joker has escaped."

"What?!" Vahns' reaction was a violent outburst of mixed fury and sheer, animal terror. Gordon felt a churning anger and disgust that the Joker could reduce the citizens of his city to such primitive emotions. "How?!"

"There was a blackout at the Asylum." Gordon paused, thinking of what evidence his detectives had been able to piece together so far, "He used it to sneak out to a rear dirt track where we think a car was waiting, if the tire tracks are anything to go by…We took photos as the heavy rain was starting to destroy the physical evidence."

"No, no, no!" Vahns cried, "This isn't… No! How would he even get out of his cell in the first place?!"

Gordon resisted the urge to cringe. As suspicious and angry he was at Harleen Quinzel, this felt like selling her short or something equally cowardly.

"It, erm, seems she let the Joker out of his cell." He said. Then, after seeing the incredulous expression crossing Vahns' face, he quickly added, "By accident… The blackout must have caused very confusing circumstances and Harleen mentioned she heard suspicious sounds from the Joker's cell… Perhaps she only meant to take a quick look to ensure his and the Asylum's security?"

"But…But it's not protocol!" Vahns seemed at a loss for words momentarily. "She can't have!"

"Oh she did." Gordon confirmed grimly, "I agree it was a foolish, dangerous action, but at present, it seems she did it with only the best of intentions."

"At present?" Vahns narrowed his eyes and looked at the Police Commissioner suspiciously, "Is she being charged with anything?"

"Again, at present, no." Gordon paused and fixed with the man before him with a significant look carrying all the gravity that the situation deserved, "However, there will be an investigation and if Harleen raises any suspicions with us, we will have to, erm, borrow her for questioning."

"I see." Vahns paused, seemingly struggling with everything for a moment. Then, his expression hardened.

"Do you have any ideas where to start searching for the Joker?"

"Not as such, no." Gordon replied honestly, suddenly very tired of beating around the bush and of secrecy and lies, "But if we caught him once, we can catch him again."

"I hope so for you and all of Gotham's sake." Vahns was back to his usual condescending, preening self, "Else I fear the entire city faces a crisis it cannot possibly survive."

Gordon decided he was entirely sick of hearing that. It was starting to make him feel decidedly harried and irritated.

"I am perfectly aware of that," He said sharply, "I do know what he's capable of."

Vahns shook his head, all the arrogance suddenly replaced by a pale skinned fear.

"No, I don't you are… I don't think anyone is."

"Pardon?"

"Last time…" Vahns licked his lips and seemed to take a breath, "Last time he was only testing the waters I think. This time, he's playing for keeps."

* * *

"Miss Quinzel?"

Harley looked up at the redheaded nurse sourly.

"Quinn."

"Well, your medical records say Quinzel." The nurse returned stubbornly, with a slightly strained smile. She was tiring quickly of this patient's bizarre behaviour and obsession with the name 'Harley Quinn'. "But anyway, I have a delivery for you."

"A…what?" Harley looked at the nurse in puzzlement. "From who? No one knows I'm here."

Her confusion was suddenly mirrored on the nurses' face.

"Oh, but a man just dropped a present off for you… He said he was dropping it off for your friend, Jay?"

Harley froze and gave the nurse a wide eyed look. She noticed the shiny, purple box under the other woman's arm. It was similar to the one left in her apartment, but smaller and the wrapping paper had a green paisley pattern on top of the purple background.

"You don't know a Jay?" The nurse looked worried suddenly, as if she was suspecting a malevolent intention to the gift she carried. "Maybe I should call the doctor-"

"-No!" Harley said quickly, sitting up sharply in bed, heart beating furiously. "Um, no it's okay… I forgot about Jay, he tends to, um, surprise me like this a lot…"

The nurse still wasn't convinced, if her sceptical expression was anything to go by. Her eyes were narrowed as she regarded Harley.

"Boyfriend is he?"

"Ermm…" Harley traced her lips with the tip of her tongue anxiously. "Well, it's a little more complicated then that."

"Oh." The nurse seemed to understand abruptly as she placed the box in Harley's lap. "Pete and I are rather like that. I'm sorry, I didn't realise."

"It's okay." Harley smiled wanly, suddenly even more anxious now that she actually had the box before her. "You weren't to know."

The nurse returned her smile before leaving the room. In the silence following her departure, Harley was reminded once more how fortunate she was to be in a private room. Working at Arkham did have its advantages it seemed. Then, she turned back to the box.

Last time, one of the Joker's 'presents' had contained bloodshed and horror. Surely he couldn't have mentioned anything as bad on short notice? He would have only been a free man for a few hours so far, what could he possibly have thought to send her? More to the point, how in God's name had he known she was in hospital? Was he having her _watched_?

Harley allowed herself to calm a little, drumming her fingers on the pretty little box. She didn't hear anything inside move or jostle when she shifted the box, so she thought maybe whatever was inside was well packed. The box was light, any weight it contained seemed to be held on the bottom in the centre.

'_Oh stop procrastinating and just open the damn thing… What's the worst it could be?'_

Oh yeah, she had to ask. Harley shook her head and thought about it.

'_He didn't kill me before because he needed me to get out of Arkham… But now, maybe he's going to 'tie up the loose end'? Then again, maybe he's still not done playing with me…'_

Harley had to admit, the idea wasn't as repellent as she'd thought it would be. There was something thrilling and seductive in the little game she and the Joker were playing now, something addictive. It was like when she'd been shoplifting as a kid: she knew it was wrong and that if she was caught she'd get in trouble, but the adrenalin rush and the potential advantages to the whole thing were simply too great to resist.

'_Fuck it…'_

She tugged at the bright green ribbon on top of the box and slid her fingers under the glued down flaps underneath. The wrapping paper fell away from the box like petals from a flower, revealing the box's contents.

There, on a bed of luxurious, black silk was a necklace. The leaf shaped pendant was made of what looked like glass or crystal, divided vertically into halves. One half was red and the other black with a couple pale silver-gold diamond shapes speckled over the dividing line. This pendant hung off of three separate strands: red ribbon, tan suede and black suede. The entire effect was one of unusual, but elegant beauty.

Eyes wide and marvelling, Harley reached out to touch the necklace. The pendant was cool and smooth beneath her trembling fingertips. Then, poking out from beneath the bed of satin, she saw a folded piece of cream coloured paper. Excited now, she tugged it free, unfolded it and began to read. A familiar scrawled, jagged handwriting stared back at her, written in what looked like fine, red ink.

_**Thanks for being so exploitable. No, really, couldn't have done without ya. Maybe I'll drop by one of these days. Don't worry bout calling, I'll find ya place **__**just fine**__**…**_

_**By the way, say anything inappropriate to Gordon or Batsy and it won't be flowers I bring when I drop by.**_

_**J**_

The note trailed off into a few splodges that Harley supposed could be seen as little 'x' and 'o' marks… Hugs and kisses?

In any case, it was all she had of her 'Mr. J' at that moment. Perfectly aware of how pathetic she looked, how reminiscent she was of every smitten preteen girl, she hugged the note to her chest and lay back with her eyes closed in silent joy. A tune her Aunt used to sing started humming like a lunatic on mild sedatives.

_Love and fools go hand in hand…_

_Is not their blindness grand?_

Decency, ethics and all that was considered sane and orderly be damned. She knew what she felt was 'wrong', she knew it to be her likely undoing. Damn she _knew_ all this… And yet…

As heart-wrenching and breath-stealing a realisation it was, there was no denying it anymore. Harley was falling for Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime. What was worse (worst? No… It could still get worse she was sure), she could not work up half the shame and anger she knew she ought to. Here she was in love with a psychopathic killer, a vicious monster, barely human, and she had the gall to hold her head high.

Harley opened one eye to cast a warily ginger look up at the roof lest God strike her down right there and then for her despicable behaviour. No expected bolt of avenging lightening fried her in her hospital bed, so Harley relaxed a little and allowed the tiniest of smiles to curve her lips as she reached over to put the necklace on. The pendant sat with a calming feeling of stillness against her pale throat.

Then, she rolled onto her side, curled into a ball with the hand holding the letter clenched against her heart, and promptly fell into a sleep full of dancing female clowns, shrieking bats and red and black crystals that rained from the sky and then shattered in a shimmering, hypnotic kaleidoscope all around her. Overwhelmed and crying tears of awe, Dream-Harley stood in the midst of the maelstrom with her arms above her head and a triumphant smile upon her mouth.

* * *

"I don't care what _time_ it is!" The Joker hissed from between clenched teeth, "I, uh, I want the lot of them to drag their sorry asses down here now before I pay their, hmm, _families_ a visit!"

The clown before him (a youngish guy the Joker had thought to name 'Tweedledum' due to his unfortunate and shortly to be fatal inability to get orders right the first time around), nodded empathetically, eyes wide in fear and backed off. He left the room as quickly as possible, scared enough to slam the door behind him.

"Not that I blame the idiot." The Joker muttered bad temperedly to himself. He was no more of a fan of his current environment then Tweedledum; the dirty rotting wood floor, peeling walls and damp-spotted roof with strange smelling funguses and mosses sprouting all over the place were not his idea of fine décor either. "But he, uh, needs to grow some _balls_ and build a bridge… Prefe_rrr_ably quickly."

"Talking to yourself again?" A cool, cultured voice, presently coloured by sarcasm and contempt, floated to his ears from some point behind him.

Lip curling in equal contempt, the Joker turned and gave the woman before him a less then friendly look. She returned it with a raised brow and an equally bold yawn before tossing her red hair back over her shoulder.

"It's customary to speak to the most important person in the room, doll face," The Joker replied in falsely honeyed tones, "And fortunately enough, that, uh, is _not_ a weirdo such as you."

The woman chuckled disbelievingly, putting down the vial of bright pink liquid she'd been eyeing speculatively. It clinked quietly on the stainless steel table before her, drawing the eye to the large and unusual array of scientific equipment sitting upon it.

"A little hypocritical of you to be throwing the word 'weirdo' around, isn't it, you crazy clo-"

The rest of the woman's words were lost in the sounds of crashing and smashing glass, metal and the hiss of spilt chemicals. It didn't perturb the Joker however, he had what he wanted: the redheaded woman's pretty little face in his grasp with a motivational knife pressed against her slender neck.

"Care to, uh, rethink your words Pam?" He asked in quietly menacing tones.

"Nope."

"No_p_e?" He repeated in mock-surprise, "So sad too bad I guess… Can't say I'm gonna, uh, miss ya."

"Oh I think you will." The woman named Pam smiled at him sweetly and pointed at the vial she'd been holding moments before. It was no cracked in half and the contents had spilt into a rapidly drying puddle on the ground. "That was all I had of your nut-job juice… If you want any more, you're going to have to play nice and start acting serious."

The Joker glared at the puddle for a moment before growling under his breath and throwing Pam away from him. Pam was no gymnast like Harley and didn't have the reflexes of Batman or the Joker, so she landed on her hands and knees, slicing both open upon her broken glass supplies.

"Shit!" She yelped, holding her bleeding hands up for her inspection, "Look at me, I'm bleeding! You bastard, god knows what I've got in these cuts now!"

"Ye_p_, absolutely devastated over that," The Joker replied before turning as Tweedledum came rushing back into the room, "Well?"

"They're coming…" Tweedledum looked briefly at Pam who was limping to a sink, dark droplets of blood smattering against the floor behind her. "I told them the same place as the old days."

The Joker was cheerful for the first time that day. He put his arm over Tweedledum's shoulder chummily and lead the trembling clown from the room. It was a mild relief when the door swung shut behind them, cutting of the sounds of Pam's annoying tantrum.

"Tell me kid, do ya like your job?"

"Y-you mean working for you?" The kid's big brown eyes, so different to the Joker's reflected fear and puzzlement.

"Mhm."

"Oh yeah, for s-sure."

The Joker paused and gave Tweedledum a look, his head tilted to one side, as if speculating or holding some internal conversation of merely mild implications.

"Then, uh, why don't you _smile_ more?" He asked eventually, his own face suddenly stretched in a maniac's… _his_ finest grin.

Tweedledum hesitated, bottom lip quivering as he considered his options. Unlike his boss, the internal conversation _he_ was having held very grave implications, mostly having to do with his continued existence. Eventually, he reached some decision and gave the Joker a weak, frightened smile. More of an unconscious quirk of the lips really.

The Joker tutted merrily and put his arm back around his henchman's shoulder. His gloved hand balanced somewhere around the right side of Tweedledum's head, just out of his immediate line of sight.

"Is that your best effort?"

Tweedldum had sweat trickling down his forehead as he gave a sharp nod. The Joker sighed, rolled his shoulders and faster then Tweedledum could see, grabbed his henchman by the hair with one hand and using the other hand, the one that had been near his face, shoved a knife between his unwilling lips.

"Oh no, no, you don't… you're doing it allll wrong… Here lemme show you."

It only took a moment. The Joker was proud of his quick hands. He'd been putting smiles on people's faces for awhile now, and he'd never once been slow or sloppy at it. True, some of the fun was last once the victim passed out from the blood loss and pain and shock, but hey, sport was sport and beggars couldn't be choosers and…

And…

'_And the cow flew over the moon.' _His cheerful mind supplied helpfully.

"Ye_p_, that's exactly it." The Joker crowed as he left the dingy apartment building for a more important rendezvous point. "Right over."

* * *

"Master Wayne!" Alfred sounded surprised, shocked even. It was a frightening divergence from the older man's usually unflappable behaviour. "What happened?"

"I…" Bruce blinked in confusion and studied the room before him. It was a mess; everything looked like it'd been picked up in a tornado and then smashed to tiny pieces before being replaced to highly unlikely locations around the room. "Um. Good question?"

Alfred seemed to take a moment to think about the scene before him. He'd heard Master Wayne return from Arkham awhile ago, but he'd thought nothing of it until he'd heard yelling and what had sounded like heavy duty demolition in the upstairs study. He'd rushed upstairs and found Bruce, still wearing most of the Batsuit standing in the middle of the room, looking torn between fury and utter confusion.

"Was there an intruder?" Alfred pushed gently, seeing the suit's mask laying discarded in the corner. Quickly, he picked it up and held it meditatively.

"No…" Bruce seemed to shake himself out of whatever reverie had seized him and looked at his feet in shame, "I did it."

Alfred struggled to think of what to say for a minute. Luckily, Bruce removed that difficulty from him.

"I just… He's out of Arkham Alfred." Bruce shook his head slowly, a look of utter misery on his face, "I lost my temper. I just couldn't… I didn't stop him and now he's out… I know it was stupid."

"Not stupid, no." Alfred said, passing Bruce the mask as he stooped to pick up a fallen book, many of its pages torn out and crumpled. "You needed it. I do think that you shouldn't blame yourself so much, but I know you Master Wayne, and I know you've always had a habit for punishing yourself. Fortunately, that habit has always been matched by a tendency to find solace in your friends."

Bruce smiled weakly for a moment before slumping against the wall. He shook his head and sighed.

"Maybe, but I'm not sure who I have left… Rachel's gone, Harvey's gone… Gordon is at risk of being arrested or fired if he's seen with me…"

Alfred turned to reply, but paused, eyes fixing on Bruce's hands. Something had torn through the reinforced gloves and now blood was oozing from the slashes.

"Not just busy at Arkham then?" He asked innocently, placing the damaged book on a nearby desk which was mercifully not upturned.

Bruce seemed to regard his injured hands with some surprise.

"I, uh… I think I might have punched out a window…or two."

Alfred tutted and surveyed the man who was like a son to him with mixed worry and amusement.

"It is fortunate then that Wayne Enterprise has a construction branch that can fix them for free."

Bruce's smile was genuine this time, appreciating his friend's humour. However, he still had to attend to more serious matters.

"There's a chance his therapist helped him escape." He said thoughtfully, pushing himself off the wall.

"Miss Quinzel?" Alfred queried, a frown appearing on his face. The pretty blonde girl was familiar to him as Bruce had kept a close eye on any doctors or therapists who'd had contact with the Joker. "Why would she do that?"

Bruce's eyes were dark now and something grim flickered over his handsome face.

"There's a chance she could be attracted to the Joker…fascinated with him in the very least. Gordon still can't figure out whether Harley's involvement with the Joker was restricted to a merely unhealthy obsession, or whether she may have helped Marshall Banks in releasing him."

"You think it's disgusting." Alfred said, referring to Harley, "Or repellent…"

"I don't understand it Alfred," Bruce agreed, "He's a killer, a monster, utterly revolting according to every human definition of 'unappealing' and yet… This girl, barely out of college and beautiful and full of life… She doesn't see it Alfred… I've watched some of the security tapes from her therapy sessions with him… Even when he's hurting her, Quinzel never once loses that weird adoration in her eyes. Her friend Patricia told me Quinzel was often solitary and a workaholic before, but not all she does is spend time alone with the Joker."

Alfred looked thoughtful for a moment before replying.

"Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome, Master Wayne?"

Bruce looked surprised, but nodded nevertheless.

"Of course… You don't think that Quinzel has it?"

"Well, the way you described things between her and the Joker certainly brings the condition to mind."

"But Stockholm Syndrome implies Harleen is a hostage when she's done all that she has so far of her own free will." Bruce pointed out, not unjustly.

"Perhaps she's not a physical prisoner," Alfred said, "so much as a mental and emotional one… It seems to me that the Joker has found some way of installing a sense of attachment in Harleen… From what you said about Harleen being solitary, perhaps she was also very lonely and the Joker has made her feel important?"

"He demanded that she be his only therapist, else he'd commit suicide." Bruce admitted, "You're saying she was lonely enough that she took any attention, even abuse from a maniac like the Joker, and turned into a sense of attachment and duty?"

"Yes, Master Wayne." Alfred replied seriously, "And that sense of attachment and duty is what holds Harleen hostage I believe. I also believe that if that is the case, then Harleen is to be pitied, not despised."

Bruce bowed his head for a moment, ashamed of the unkind things he's thought and said about Harley. Then, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair, wincing when he remembered the injuries on them.

"Perhaps you're right, Alfred," He said wearily, "But either way, she'd better be careful over the next few weeks… The media is going to be after blood once they know the Joker has escaped, and once they learn of Quinzel's possible involvement, they'll be after her too… Not to mention there will be pressure on Gordon to level charges on her."

Alfred pursed his lips and gave the issue a moment of consideration. At that moment, Bruce felt like he could have hugged the older man. He just didn't know what he'd do without Alfred's constant calming presence and his ability to see reason, rationality and logic where he could only see confusion and indecision.

"_Can_ he level charges on Harleen?" Alfred asked, "Is there enough solid evidence proving she assisted in the Joker's release?"

"I honestly don't know." Bruce gingerly peeled his gloves off, surveying the damaged flesh beneath. The bleeding was slowing already; he thought he probably wouldn't need stitches which was a relief. Of late, it seemed his injuries were becoming harder and harder to firstly hide from the media and then, if that failed, explain according to their expectations of what playboy Bruce Wayne was like. "Personally, my opinion is she did it. She knocked out the power and therefore the cameras, which are the first things that would have her charged… However, her alibi is still not watertight."

"But do you think she'll be charged?"

Bruce thought about it for a long moment, trying to be like Alfred and see all the options, all the pieces of the issue at once as a large informational mosaic.

"No."

"Why not?" Alfred pushed his young charge, trying to ensure Bruce fully understood what was sure to follow once all of this evening's doings were leaked to the press.

"She's too wrapped up in other people's scandals and secrets." Bruce said determinedly, "She knows too many unpleasant things about people like Vahns, people with political and social clout. They'll go out of their way to protect Quinzel and throw a smokescreen around her because chances are, if she goes down, she'll take them down with her."

"So officially she'll be safe." Alfred said slowly, "Unofficially however…"

"Quinzel will still have a big fat target painted over her forehead." Bruce finished, feeling like a wave of enlightenment had crashed over him, "Anyone who lost a relative to the Joker, any cops whose time and efforts are wasted on attempting to prosecute her…Even other Arkham staff who consider her a threat to their secrecy… They'll all be after her."

"That's right." Alfred nodded and gave Bruce a loaded look, "I suggest you tell Gordon all of this… He'll have an idea of all of this already, but he won't quite have the entire picture."

Bruce made a face and seemed to squirm, avoiding Alfred's eyes. His friend understood immediately.

"You don't think he'll take you seriously now that he knows who you are, do you?" Alfred asked gently.

Bruce shrugged, unwilling to reveal his irrational worries and fears, all surfaced by the robbery of the mask that had been like his security blanket.

"Whilst Gordon will judge you by what you've done so far, Master Wayne," Alfred said comfortingly, "Whilst your identity will surely have come as a shock to him, Jim is a good man and will always do the right thing. You should trust him."

"Oh, I do." Bruce shook his head slowly, as if shaking away some hidden source of doubt, "But I'm just worried that trust won't be enough to get us through this… Not where the Joker is concerned. That clown has a knack of tearing trust and honesty into shreds."

"Gordon is a good man." Alfred repeated, more forcefully this time, "Talk to him."

Bruce smiled vaguely and put the mask back on. It seemed futile considering that the man he was visiting knew the face behind it, but there was always the chance he'd come into contact with other people.

"I'll do that."

* * *

By the time Gordon headed home for the night, it was silent in his neighbourhood. Everyone at home would be fast asleep. His family loved him, they accepted the hours he had to spend at his job and they did not torture themselves laying awake for hours, awaiting his eventual return.

As Gordon pulled into his driveway, he surveyed his modest home with a loving eye. True, his new salary meant they could have moved to a far nicer, larger home, or maybe even one of the luxurious apartments many of Gotham's civil servants housed themselves in. However, Gordon knew and felt right down to his very bones that this house was home. It was the home he and Barbara had shared from their first days together and with any luck, it would be the home they would spend their last days together in as well.

The wooden stairs up to his front door creaked familiarly beneath his feet as he approached the building that his family slept peaceably within. Then, that voice that haunted both his dreams and nightmares sounded. Only now, he recognized it for what it was.

"Someone once said that home is not where you live, but where they understand you." The voice paused and this time, when it spoke again, it spoke honestly without the disguise of a raspy false voice. "I wonder what that says about me?"

Gordon turned and surveyed the man who was perched in his normal shadowy spot, beneath the fire escape.

"That was Christian Morganstern who said that." He replied calmly, "And I believe it. Gotham does not understand you, because you wear a mask before them… If they knew you were, perhaps they would understand."

"You're suggesting I reveal myself to all of Gotham?"

"No." Gordon said quickly, "You and I both know that would never work. I merely say it because well, I understand now. You lost your family Bruce, you turned your grief and anger inwards. Somehow though, it didn't destroy you. Although, I must confess, dressing as an oversized bat, even a civic duty minded one, does speak of some… mental quirk."

Bruce could not help but smile at that one.

"You don't know the reasoning behind it." He pointed out, not unfairly.

"Tell me then."

"Bats used to scare me…" Bruce paused for a moment, his eyes far away. "So, I decided that like my grief and anger, I would best my fears. Make something… Well, I'm not sure if I can honestly use the word 'constructive', but make something better out of my emotions."

Gordon felt awkward, unsure what to say or do. He'd never been one for moments of overt emotionality.

Luckily however, Bruce sensed the Commissioner's unease and gave a reassuring smile.

"Besides," he joked, "My job would be no fun unless I got to play dress-up."

The jesting put Gordon at ease and he relaxed.

"So, did you merely come to see me to offer an explanation for your choice of life?"

Bruce's eyes lost their mirth and he shook his head.

"No, I came to give you a heads up… Quinzel is going to need protection during the next few weeks."

Quickly, Bruce outlined the basics of the conversation he and Alfred had shared, making sure Gordon understood to danger Quinzel would be in from those who would see her charged or jailed.

"Christ…" Gordon muttered under his breath, feeling the stress of the next few weeks already, "This is insane, this is-"

"-The Joker." Bruce pointed out grimly, "He's doing this deliberately: causing us to panic, to get sidetracked so that he has time to regroup and come back, more dangerous then ever."

Gordon sighed and nodded before looking at Bruce sharply as something previously unconsidered occurred to him.

"What is your role in all of this going to be?"

Bruce seemed mildly taken aback.

"I'm an outlaw, I-"

"-You know him best." Gordon cut him off sternly, "Gotham is going to need you again."

Bruce hesitated, his face openly reflecting his mixed worry, anger and desire to be Gotham's hero once more. After a moment, that all hardened into impenetrability once more.

"Will they let themselves need me?" He asked in a bitter voice, "After all, Gotham seems to think one costumed freak is more then enough."

Gordon shuddered, remembering the conversation the Joker and Batman had had in the interrogation room together. The hidden microphone had revealed it's entire contents to him.

'…_You're just a freak like me…'_

"No!" Gordon said suddenly, angrily, causing Bruce to look up in mild surprise. "You're not a freak Bruce, you're just a man who… who suffered terrible, heart-breaking losses and wanted to make a difference because of it."

"Maybe." Bruce sounded sad now. "They say the line between hero and vigilante is a treacherously thin one… But I believe the line between hero and freak is even more so. I have to wonder what the Joker's return will make me into."

Gordon looked at his feet, feeling lousy suddenly for spearheading the city's attempts to find Batman, to arrest him, to expose him. He knew he'd had no choice and it'd been Bruce's idea anyway, but it made him feel cheap and dirty nevertheless.

"You'll always be the hero," He said eventually, looking up again, "Not a…"

Gone again. Even with his identity revealed, it seemed the Batman could not tolerate human company for long. Or perhaps he did it just to annoy Gordon. Who knew really? Even robbed of his mask, Bruce was a fathomless ocean.

"Damn." Was all Gordon had to say before shaking his head and going indoors.

* * *

**Whew, writing Gordon and Bruce interacting in that context took me a lot of time and effort... I still don't know if I got it completely right, so I shall leave it up to you wonderful people ^^**

**Anyway, the introduction of the afore-mentioned comic-book character... Anyone pick it up? I didn't really hide it or anything, sooo.... **

**Okay, here's what I'm _hoping _to have in the next chapter:**

**1) The beginning of Harleen's troubles**

**2) The Joker's first reappearance as far as blowing stuff up and generally being a nutcase goes**

**3) Bruce starting to realise that Bruce and Batman may not be able to stay as seperate and segragated of one a nother as he might have liked**

**4) Harley really losing it**

**Hope you're looking forward to next time as much as I am ^^**

**TTFN from Vampassassin  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hellloooo kiddies :) Here's another (hopefully) long awaited chapter to my little Joker/Harley story. Those familiar with Harley's origin story in BTAS and 'Mad Love' will read through this chapter and perhaps sense how close we're coming to Harley's breaking point... If I continue writing in the way I'm hoping too, we should see Harley complete her transformation in no more then one or two chapters... Yay! :)**

**  
****

* * *

**

**Chapter Eleven, Hostage**

I'm a hostage of your heart,  
You can twist me 'round your finger.  
Your burning eyes are tearing me apart.  
Turn my soul into a cinder.  
Boy, boy, hostage of your heart.  
Can you twist me 'round your finger? **'Hostage' Mike Oldfield**

We think...  
I'm glad it wasn't me  
And turn up the TV  
And squeeze our eyes shut, but leave a space to see **'Accident' Lisa Loeb**

*****

It all begun for her the following morning. Within moments of opening her eyes, two people were shown into her room, a man and a woman. Harley opened her mouth to protest the invasion of her privacy, but wisely decided to remain quiet when she noticed the woman was wearing a police uniform.

"Miss Quinzel," The woman was sort of grim looking, like she would have no qualms about laying down a serious ass kicking if she, Harley, so much as breathed too loudly, "This is Counsellor Westaway," She said by way of introduction, "He's assigned himself as your…legal aid."

Harley was familiar with Darrell Westway. Whenever any person of controversy was facing serious legal issues, he stepped in as their legal defence. He was a pro at making charges and unpleasant court cases just 'disappear'. However, of late, he'd faced some unpleasant issues himself over his latest case, in which he'd managed to turn the highly favoured death penalty into a stay at Arkham which, as of the previous evening, had proven fully inadequate as retribution. That would explain why this policewoman was glowering at Darrell like she wanted to stomp his skull in. However, Harley still had questions.

"What am I being charged with?" She demanded, sitting up sharply. The sudden movement made her a little dizzy and it was not the nicest way to wake up, but she couldn't look weak or vulnerable for this discussion. She was already at a disadvantage just being in a hospital bed.

"At this time, nothing." Darrell reassured her, "However, last night seems to have caused some… misunderstandings with our _friends_ in the Police Department."

It was Darrell's turn to glower, even if it proved to have no effect whatsoever on the policewoman.

"Why?" Harley asked again, a little startled by how easy it was to pull off the 'innocent' act, "What's going on?"

"It's absurd Harley," Darrell said in a voice full of contempt aimed at the woman standing just behind him, "But your involvement is suspected in the Joker's escape from Arkham."

"_What_?!" Harley burst out, looking furious. She was really focussing on Darrell's seemingly instinctive knowledge of her new preference for the name 'Harley' instead of 'Harleen' however. There was only one way she thought he could know that… "But I didn't do anything like that!"

"Oh really?" The policewoman snarled, "Then how do you explain the mountain of evidence against you?"

Harley opened her mouth to give a nasty reply, but shut it again when Darrell shot her a warning look and turned to deal with the woman himself.

"Officer," He began in his most high and mighty voice, "What is your name and rank?"

"Renee Montoya, Detective." The woman responded, dislike for Darrell gleaming in her eyes, "Do you want my badge number whilst you're at it, _Counsellor_?"

"No thankyou," Darrell returned with a sickly sweet smile, "I believe your name and rank shall prove enough."

"For what?"

"To make a request that you be withheld from interviews with my client of course." Darrell said grimly, "If you are going to continue to treat her in this manner, it's only the sensible thing to do. If you find you can control yourself however…"

Montoya said nothing, choosing to sit in one of the visitor's chairs positioned around the room. Darrell did likewise.

"So… This is an interview then?" Harley asked meekly, "Not an interrogation?"

"Correct." Darrell responded with a kindly smile. "In order to further prove your innocence, I have agreed to let you answer some polite questions and show the Police Department you did no such thing as unlawfully release the Joker."

"Okay I guess." Harley bit her bottom lip, "I don't know how these things work though…"

"That's alright." Darrell said calmly, "That's why I'm here: to provide guidance."

Montoya shot both Harley and Darrell one last look before beginning the interview.

"Harleen, can you please tell me what happened last night at Arkham?" Montoya asked. She was being remarkably polite, although Harley got the distinct feeling it was taking a lot of effort to do so.

"I was just entering the building-"

"Why were you there?" Montoya leapt in immediately, "You weren't rostered for an evening shift that day."

"I needed to use the library," The lie was out of Harley's mouth just as fast, with no effort, "Working with the Joker was hard…I needed to do some research to try and find a fresh approach to his treatment. However, before I could reach the library, there was, well, I suppose a blackout."

"All the lighting and CCTV fuses were found to be severely damaged by way of a construction wrench found on the scene." Montoya said, "I don't suppose you'd know how that happened?"

"I do hope you're not implying that this structural damage was the work of my client." Darrell protested.

"Of course not." Montoya smiled, but the gesture did not warm up her eyes at all. "Perhaps, however, Harley saw someone else...?"

"No." Harley replied bluntly. "I saw no one. I never went into the Utility areas of Arkham. When the lights went out, I went to the front office because I knew Patricia would be working and maybe we'd be able to call someone for help."

"Patricia says she was attacked in the dark," Montoya said, a note of menace entering her voice now, "The blow to her head has made her a little fuzzy on the details, but she seems to remember seeing you at one point last night."

"I…" Harley bit her lip again and bowed her head, "I was so frightened in the dark… I wasn't sure if the patients' cell locking systems had failed too. I went into the front office, looking for Patricia. However, it was pitch black and when she appeared out of nowhere… I kind of, um, smacked her in the face with a door."

"Really?" Montoya sounded dry and utterly disbelieving, "So, you stayed with your friend and attempted administer rudimentary medial attention then I suppose."

"N-no…"

"No?" Montoya repeated incredulously, although there was no surprise in her eyes, "Now that seems a little off, if I may say so… Patricia is supposed to be your friend, and yet you didn't attempt to help her when she was bleeding profusely from a head wound?"

"It was pitch-black!" Harley shot back, growing upset. She was starting to forget that this was all meant to be a lie, it was starting to blur into something else in her mind. Maybe an alternative truth that could have just as easily happened, if she'd chosen just a little differently. "I couldn't see where she was bleeding from or if she was even conscious! Meanwhile, there were orderlies running around with torches! What do you think I did? I went to try and ask one of them for help of course!"

Montoya seemed taken aback and Harley could feel angry tears stinging in her eyes. Darrell looked between the two women before clearing his throat.

"As you can see Detective Montoya, my client is becoming extremely upset… I suggest a short break, just so everyone can clear their heads."

"It's within your rights I suppose." Montoya muttered, looking more troubled and less angry then before. "And I need to make some calls…Speak with my superiors."

"I'm sure." Harley got the feeling Darrell was aiming for kindly when he spoke, but didn't quite manage to weed out all the contempt in his voice.

Montoya noticed it too, but didn't respond to it this time. She merely raised a brow, shook her head and left the room, pulling her cell phone from her pocket as she went.

"Well," Darrell said suddenly, making Harley jump, "You're doing well so far."

"Oh, um… Thanks." Harley blinked and a question suddenly occurred to her. "Hey, why are you defending me? I can't pay you or anything, I barely make enough to support myself…"

"Not to worry Harley." Darrell gave her a crafty, almost chilling smile, "That's all been taken care of by the same man who asked for me to act as your lawyer."

"And that would be…who?" Harley was starting to get worried. Someone very wealthy and powerful was taking an interest in her; she wasn't so sure this meant anything good.

"An old friend of mine actually who says he owes you a favour." Darrell seemed surprised Harley didn't know already, "A man by the name of Jack Napier… He sent me a note asking me to take care of you better then I took care of him. He also told me you prefer to be addressed as Harley these days, not Harleen."

"Oh." Harley frowned and pushed her tired, frightened mind into overdrive. "I don't know a Jack Napier… But he knows me as Harley so…"

She trailed off, a look of sudden comprehension crossing her wan face. Darrell nodded in approval.

"Oh." Harley's eyes widened, "_Oh_!"

"Indeed." Darrell nodded. "By the way, that necklace you're wearing… Charming piece of jewellery."

Harley's hand flew to where she'd forgotten to remove the red and black pendant from around her throat.

"Oh, t-thankyou." She said uncertainly. "Um, it was a gift I think from Jack."

Darrell smiled humourlessly and shook his head.

"There are no such things as 'gifts' when it comes to Jack, you should probably learn that quickly. In the mean time, I suggest you take that necklace off whilst Montoya is around."

"Why?" Harley demanded, unwilling suddenly to remove the pretty necklace. "I like it."

"Because," Darrell said slowly, warningly, "Montoya has proven herself a cunning and sharp woman before… She is sure to inquire about the necklace sooner or later, especially as you were not wearing it last night. Not to mention that it will look very suspicious if they discover you've received a delivery from someone named 'Jay'…"

Harley chewed at her bottom lip for a moment before sighing and removing the necklace as instructed. She also produced the note from where she'd hidden it beneath her pillow. She passed the two items to Darrell who quickly placed them in his briefcase.

"By the way Harley…" Darrell said thoughtfully, "I must make a warning about Montoya."

Harley said nothing, merely eyeing the door that Montoya waited on the other side of nervously.

"I have received rather… convincing information that Detective Montoya has a rather personal interest in your friend Patricia."

"Personal interest?" Harley repeated slowly, "You don't mean that she's a… you know?"

Darrell chuckled humourlessly at Harley's innocent surprise.

"A lesbian? Yes, Harley, that's exactly it. So, I suggest you tread carefully around any mention of Patricia."

"Sure sure…" Harley paused and then suddenly smiled. There was nothing innocent in her expression now. "But, uh, I have an idea concerning what you just told me… An idea that would help get rid of any problems Montoya might present."

"Oh?" Darrell smiled as well, "And what would that be?"

Harley grinned and told him.

* * *

"Commissioner?" Gordon's receptionist, a canny woman by the name of Laura Bullfinch, stuck her head into his office, "There's someone here to see you…"

Gordon looked up from the reports on the events of Arkham with a frown on his face.

"I'm not scheduled to see anyone, tell them to make an appointment."

"I don't…" Laura bit her bottom lip before starting again, "It's the D.A."

"Gertude Dennison?" Gordon resisted the urge to curse loudly, "What is _she_ doing here?"

"Well, apart from her general desire to cause misery and chaos wherever she goes, I believe she is trying to, um…" Laura trailed off helplessly, bewilderment and anger in her eyes.

"She is trying to what?" Gordon asked, getting to his feet and walking over to the woman and shaking her gently, "Gertrude is trying to what?"

"Land your ass in a heap of trouble Gordon." A woman's voice replied nastily, causing both Gordon and Laura to look up in surprise.

Gertrude Dennison (or the 'Gertranator' as she was nicknamed by discontent MCU members behind her back) was a tall woman with unnaturally perfect black hair with what could only be described as a 'presence'. This was mostly likely due to the permanent scowl on her lips and the swarm of spiteful legal goons that seemed to follow her everywhere. A few of them were cops who, dissatisfied under Gordon, had turned to Gertrude in order to seek out conditions that suited their desires better. Usually, this meant revealing any of Gordon's less then perfect moments and policies and then settling down to enjoy the financial and social benefits of Gertrude's presence.

"Gerty." Gordon gave a brief, hard smile. "How nice to see you again."

"That's part of the problem with cops like you," She replied, "You're all cowards who won't say what you really feel."

"Well, we can't all be like you Ms. Dennison." Gordon countered, irritation sparking in him, "Which is perhaps just as well."

"Oh?" Gertrude shot Gordon a look through narrowed eyes. One could almost see the woman as a menacing dragon, complete with smoke billowing from one nostril.

"Well, it's like in the wild," Gordon replied, vindictive pleasure replacing the irritation as he formulated his reply, "There has to be many _different_ animals, not just _one_ species. For instance, the world would be a very… _boring_ place if the only animals around were dogs."

There was a long moment of shocked silence. Gertrude looked momentarily taken aback before hissing in rage and glaring at Gordon.

"I do hope you're not comparing _me_ to a dog," She laughed coldly, a poor imitation of humour. "_Commissioner_," She added in honeyed tones.

Gordon widened his eyes in mock surprise.

"Me?" He smiled in amusement, "Oh, of _course_ not. My apologies for the… _misunderstanding_."

Gertrude gave her cold laugh again.

"Perhaps you won't be quite so amused when you hear what I have to say Gordon."

"And what is that?"

"I'm here to legally prosecute you."

There was a long, silent moment. Then, Gordon gave a disbelieving laugh.

"With _what_?" He demanded, "What have I _done_?"

Gertrude smiled and clicked her fingers at one of her nearby hovering goons. The young man passed her a folder which Gertrude scanned through quickly.

"Ah, perfect." She muttered, half to herself, before looking back up at Gordon. "It says here you are to be charged with the illicit detention of a Doctor Vahns of Arkham Asylum. You are also being charged with withholding Vahns' right to an attorney, therefore proving yourself to be in direct violation of the Sixth Amendment of the United States Constitution."

For near to a minute, no one said anything. Gertrude merely smiled at Gordon whilst he stared back fathomlessly. Then, the silence was broken as Gordon stirred suddenly, startling everyone in the room.

"That slimy son of a _bitch_…" He muttered, "He's having me _prosecuted_…"

"That's right." Gertrude's smile was one of utter delight and Gordon found it sickening to look at. "Now, would you like to hear your options?"

Gordon shot Gertrude a raised brow sort of look that normally, anyone with any common sense or respect for the Commissioner, would have quickly backed away from. Unfortunately, Gertrude Dennison was sadly lacking in both respects, and forged on, still with that sickening little smile on her smooth face. It made Gordon think that Gertrude would have been quite attractive if not for the facts that she rarely smiled properly and she really was an unforgiveable bitch.

"You have two options." She chimed, flipping through her folder again, pausing every now and then to sign something and pass it back to the underling who continued to hover nearby, "Firstly, you refuse to surrender your role as Police Commissioner-"

"-I like this option already."

"-In which case I arrest you and have you detained until further notice."

"And my second option?" Gordon demanded, trying not to clench his fists and therefore let Gertrude see how angry he was.

"You might prefer this one." Gertrude drawled, "Your second option… You relinquish your role as Police Commissioner to me until such time that the courts have decided upon whether or not you are suitable for the role you currently serve."

"When you say 'relinquish'," Gordon said slowly, "What do you exactly mean?"

"You will turn in your badge, gun and any ID that gives you access to this building or otherwise identifies you as Commissioner or a Police Officer." Gertrude rattled off, without pausing for breath.

"You must be joking." Gordon shook his head slowly, "This is absurd."

"Oh, I rarely joke, Gordon." Gertrude said quietly in a dangerous voice, "Now, have you reached a decision?"

"Say I don't like either of your options…" Gordon smiled suddenly. "You forget I have a third one."

"I doubt it." Gertrude sneered, "Unless you plan to do something like throw yourself out a window in some pathetic final protest."

Gordon winced at Gertrude's utter lack of tact.

"No actually." He said, a trifle angrily now, "See, you may have pages of legal terms to throw at me, but you forgot one crucial thing: An actual warrant for my arrest. As D.A, you aren't actually allowed to write your own warrants as that could be construed as a conflict of interests and a temptation to corruption. You'll have to go through the courts."

"Then I will." Gertrude snapped, "So really, you're merely prolonging the inevitable."

"Hardly." Gordon gave the woman before him a large, bright smile. "The courts won't grant you your warrant; they have far bigger things to deal with."

"Did Batman kill someone else?" Gertrude sneered, deliberately taunting Gordon with the discourteous reference.

"Actually," Gordon spoke through clenched teeth now, "The Joker escaped Arkham Asylum last night."

It seemed that the entire building fell silent in one sharp intake of breath. Everyone stared at Gordon with widened eyes full of hatred and terror for the Joker. The air suddenly felt close and tight, liable to snap violently.

'_Well, the cat's out of the bag now.' _Gordon thought, a little ruefully. He was not doing much damage anyway though, he'd received word that the mayor had been informed of the Joker's escape and was demanding a warning be placed in the newspapers early today.

"Why wasn't I notified?" Gertrude hissed, looking entirely capable of launching herself at someone at that moment, "This is…. _Inexcusable_!"

"I apologise for your being uninformed," Gordon said sweetly, "But you were busy, we didn't want to disturb you… After all, you were doing such _wonderful_ work."

Gertrude opened her mouth to give a doubtlessly savage reply, if the amount of teeth she displayed was anything to go by. Gordon cut her off though, more then happy to exercise some authority over the thoroughly unpleasant woman.

"I'm sorry Ms. Dennison," He said in a harder, stern voice, "Since you have no further purpose here in the MCU building, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"You can't!-"

"If you refuse to leave," Gordon spoke over the top of her, having to raise his voice, "I will be forced to ask Detectives Troy and Skavinski here to remove you by force."

That struck Gertrude silent. Even the anger faded a little from the woman's face and a new, calculating expression come into being. Her eyes flicked between Detective's Troy and Skavinski who smiled at her humourlessly, and the small group of goons that watched her nervously, as if waiting for orders. Gordon understood what she was thinking immediately.

"You think your group of goons will scare me off?" Gordon asked, laughing remorselessly, "I'm warning you, don't start this with me."

"Start what?" Gertrude asked innocently, a false smile fixed on her painted lips even has her eyes flicked angrily from side to side. "I'm not starting anything."

"Troy, Skavinski…"

"_Alright_." Gertrude snapped, "I am _leaving_. However, you should be aware that I do _not_ consider this the end of the issue."

"Of course not." Gordon smiled wanly, "I'm sure we'll go over this again later, when the Joker is not a catastrophic threat to Gotham."

Gertrude merely snorted and stormed out of the office, her flock of underlings trickling out behind her like dogs with their tails between their legs. All except for one.

Gordon didn't recall having ever seen this woman in MCU before, so he figured she'd been employed from a private legal or security firm outside of Gotham's Police Department. She had short blonde curly hair and features that Gordon supposed were Nordic or Germanic in origin. Certainly she had the bright blue eyes necessary for that to be true.

"Aren't you going to follow your mistress?" Gordon inquired, too tired of the absurd scenario to bother being polite.

The woman gave him a sardonic look and shook her head.

"I wanted to speak to you."

"Sorry, I'm a little tired of being abused today." Gordon replied, "Try again tomorrow, or even better, not at all."

"Actually Commissioner, I came to offer you some assistance." The woman said coolly, "Which I think you may appreciate."

Gordon sighed and motioned for Laura to go back to work. Once she'd left and it was just him and this odd woman, he leant back in his seat and raised a brow.

"And what exactly would you be assisting with?" He asked.

"Catching the Joker of course." The woman replied before allowing herself a tiny smile, "Which shouldn't be too difficult if he is the same freak as I used to know."

Gordon sat back up sharply, eyes fixed on the woman before him. Suspicion and a small amount of desperate hope battled painfully in his chest.

"Forgive my French, but who the fuck are you exactly?" He demanded.

"My name is Clara Bertram and I'm a… Well, I suppose you could describe me as a sort of Intelligence Analyst for Gertrude Dennison."

"Intelligence Analyst?" Gordon's brows shot up considerably, "Where did Gertrude dig you up? What do you _do_ for her?"

"I was working for a rather exclusive law firm before Gertrude employed me privately." Clara responded calmly, "You won't have heard of them. As for what I do… Well, as you can imagine, the D.A receives a lot of information covering many different areas each day. A lot of this is useless data such as complaints from staff, interdepartmental gossip and criminal occurrences that are better off being dealt with by people of a more, hmm, _operational_ level, such as yourself or the officers here in MCU. My job, very simply put, is to keep an eye out for issues of a more specific and special nature."

"Knowing Gerty," Gordon said bitterly, "I'm thinking that would mean issues like Batman and the Joker…. Gertrude has long considered those two to be a personal affront to her desire for an idealised Gotham where I'm no longer Commissioner; she's got total control over the Police Department and all the costumed heroes and freaks are either behind bars or non-existent."

"That is correct." Clara dipped her head, showing no signs of where her feelings on the issue fell. "Give or take a few smaller matters."

Gordon pursed his lips and considered that remark for a second before turning to Clara with eyes narrowed to slits behind his glasses.

"I have to wonder, Miss Bertram, what you would be gaining if I were to accept your offer of assistance."

"Well, I'll be honest and admit I would indeed being gaining something personal from helping you," Clara smiled vaguely, "But I wouldn't worry about it, it's nothing that would interfere with the investigation or prosecution."

Gordon wasn't convinced.

"Prove to me that you can help."

Clara's smile became suddenly more pronounced and something vicious entered her eyes.

"Okay, how's this for a pointer," She said nastily, "I'd enter the name 'Jack Napier' in your database. You might be interested in what pops up."

Gordon smiled back in a grim manner.

"Now, Ms. Bertram," He said calmly, "I do believe we're doing business."

* * *

"I'm tired of this place." Harley sighed, trailing her fingers along her newly shoed shins. The black leather knee high boots felt good, cradling her shapely legs like close friends.

Darrell Westway smiled good humouredly. Ever since the interview with Montoya, he'd been busy. He'd been given explicit directions by this 'Jack Napier' (he refused to refer to him by his more recognizable alias as even a paranoia that even his thoughts would get him caught had set in) to do everything within his considerable power to make Miss Quinn comfortable, using the considerable amount of cash he'd been given if necessary.

So far, 'comfortable' had entailed three new outfits from the most expensive boutiques in Gotham, five separate sets of expensive silk and lace lingerie, countless boxes of French and Belgian chocolates, a bottle of a rather pricey fragrance, fifteen new books on psychology, gymnastics, self-defense and oddly, one thick tome titled 'performing in a circus'.

To finish off this ludicrous but very important shopping trip, Harley had demanded a seven hundred dollar pair of black leather knee high boots from a tiny but exorbitantly priced and famed store downtown.

Harley was now sprawled laconically on her bed, dressed in the boots, one of the ridiculously short skirts she'd been bought and a red silk bra with a black lace overlay. She was chewing gum (a brand notorious for being a favourite with prostitutes all over Gotham due to its long last flavour and ability to make the chewer look more then a little enticing). Every now and then, she'd blow a bubble, let it pop and then lick her lips.

Darrell Westway thought that so far, this job was turning out be rather amusing.

"I said I'm tired!" Harley repeated suddenly, sitting up properly. "Mistah J is outta Arkham, and I'm just sitting here! Why? I don't know whether to be scared or happy or miserable he hasn't done anything yet!"

Darrell felt bad for the pretty blonde. It was obvious that despite her love for all things luxurious, all the presents he'd bought her meant nothing compared to news of the psychopathic clown who simultaneously spoilt and tormented her.

"Well, he's busy for one thing." He explained, cautious not to say too much without permission, "Besides, are you saying you want him to visit?"

"N-no…" Harley squirmed, obviously torn, "Yes… I don't know… It's so wrong Darrell, I know it is, but he… It's like I'm someone different with him… Someone who means something."

Darrell studied Harley for a long moment, thinking that he saw two very separate people at once: a bored, sad woman whose life had become a disappointment, a rut from which she could not escape. The other was a femme fatale, a harlequin, painted in shocking shades of red, black and white who knew what she wanted and that was to caper after her beloved 'Mistah J' like a delighted puppy and watch him burn Gotham down in a fit of giggles.

"I think I understand that." He smiled at her, "But I'm afraid I don't hold the solution to that particular conundrum. I don't like seeing you said though, so would you like me to buy something else?"

Harley smiled suddenly, her baby blue eyes glittering and her mouth upturned. She kissed Darrell on the forehead cheerfully.

"Naw, you're such a sweetie, Darrie-boy," she cooed, "You do more then you should for me."

Darrell laughed and waved Harley's admiration aside.

"Not at all," he replied, "I'm merely doing exactly as Jack told me."

Harley leant back in her bed, stretching like a cat so that her scantily clad gymnast's muscles rippled luxuriously.

"In that case," She fluttered her eyelashes endearingly at Darrell, "Be a honey and get me a coffee… None of that filth from the canteen."

Darrell laughed and stood, pulling his jacket on. As he left the room, he heard the pop of one of Harley's bubblegum bubbles.

* * *

"Um, yes, I'm here to see Harleen… Harleen Quinzel." Pam smiled past a wave of nausea at the nurse behind the desk, "I heard she was injured so I thought I'd come pay her a visit."

The nurse eyed Pam with an uneasy eye and quite frankly, Pam didn't blame her. She felt terrible and she knew she looked it took.

"I'll just call up and see if Harley's willing to see you." The plump, matronly woman said, picking up her phone.

* * *

Darrell hadn't been gone long when the phone in Harley's room rung. Pleased by a distraction from her scattered thoughts, she answered quickly.

"Hiya!" She chimed, "Who's this?"

"This is Nurse Delilah, I have a lady named Pamela here claiming to be a friend of yours. Is it okay if I let her up to see you?"

Harley gave a squeal of delight upon hearing that name of her visitor.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then," Nurse Delilah remarked dryly.

* * *

"Pammy!" Harley started to throw herself at her old friend, but stopped when she saw the redhead's face. "Woah, what happened to you?!"

Pam grimaced and touched her face lightly. Her skin felt hot and clammy, coated in sweat. It felt like there were thorny vines writhing under her skin.

"I had an… accident." She replied, "It's kinda a funny story."

Harley grimaced and beckoned for Pam to sit on the nearby couch with her.

"Yeah, I think I know something about funny stories."

"Oh?" Pam smirked. "I dunno, mine's pretty nuts."

Harley desperately wanted to launch into her story, but decided that considering she'd barely seen her best friend of late, it would be best to allow someone else the limelight, however temporarily.

"Okay, tell me." Harley grinned. She offered Pam some of the chocolates she'd been bought, but her friend, usually so tempted by candies, grimaced and shook her head.

"I got attacked." Pam dove in right away, "By… Well, this guy."

Harley's eyes widened in shock.

"Oh my God," She gaped, "How? Who?"

Pam bit her lip, tossing up whether to tell Harley the whole story. They'd never really hidden things from one another before, but this was different: she'd been fraternising with Gotham's most wanted criminal.

"Pammy?" Harley cocked her head to one side, sensing her friend's unease. "It's okay, I won't be judgmental."

Pamela Isley smiled and decided on a rather edited version of the truth.

"Well, I got an offer from, um, a less then reputable man…" She hesitated, getting her story clear in her head, "He needed some of my botanical expertise."

Harley frowned, a little suspicious. Pam was studying as a chemical engineer, specialising in botanical sciences. She was at a loss as to what sort of 'less then reputable man' would have any sort of use for that sort of knowledge.

"And that resulted in you having an accident?"

Pam half shrugged.

"Well, I got into in argument with him… I might have been thrown into a lab table… I think I'm just having a bad reaction to some of the chemicals I was using."

Harley's mouth fell open.

"Oh my God, Pammy!" She yelped, "You should have gone to a hospital! In fact, why don't I call a doctor right now?"

Pamela shook her head empathetically.

"N-no!" She gasped, "You can't! I'd get in so much trouble!"

Harley hesitated.

"Who was this guy anyway?"

Pamela shook her head.

"Just some guy… He had a crap sense of humour whoever he was." She paused, "Now tell me your funny story."

"I'm being investigated by the GCPD." Harley said resentfully, "For something that happened in Arkham…"

Pam froze, expression freezing in place.

"Y-you don't mean-" She didn't need to continue. Only one thing of significance had happened in Arkham lately.

"Yeah, the Joker." The words fell flat from her mouth. The name however, caused something dark and unfathomable to stir in Harley's insides. "He escaped… You probably saw that in this morning's paper… They're investigating me because of it."

"Why?" Pam demanded, "What happened?"

"I went to work and whilst I was there, there was a blackout." Harley was a little surprised by how easily the lies popped out, and how close she was to believing them herself, "I heard strange noises from the Joker's room, so I decided to take a quick look… He knocked me unconscious and escaped. Director Banks was shot by GCPD by accident and Patricia, the receptionist, was hurt too."

"That's horrible." Pamela didn't look at Harley though, her head was down and her voice reflected some deep burden. "I hope you don't get in trouble."

"Me too." Harley laughed. She was about to say more, but at that moment, Darrell walked back into the room, carrying two steaming cups of coffee from a nearby café in a tray with one hand. When he saw Pamela, he froze and one hand seemed to drift towards his suit jacket's pocket.

"D-Darrell!" Harley jumped to her feet, voice becoming shrill with surprise and inexplicable guilt, "This is my friend, Pamela Isley."

Something flickered in Darrell's eyes at the mention of Pamela's name. He looked at her, inclining his head as a greeting with a condescending smile on his lips and taking his hand away from his pocket. Pam glared at the man before getting to her feet.

"Actually, I was about to leave." Pamela said waspishly, glancing at Harley briefly. "I'll talk to you again sometime soon Harl'."

"But…" Harley looked between her two friends, at a loss as to what was happening, "What's-"

Pamela just shook her head and kissed Harley before storming out of the room. In the silence that followed, Harley glared at Darrell.

"What was that?" She hissed, "What did you do to piss Pammy off?"

Darrell smirked, offering Harley one of the coffees he held. She accepted it without ceasing her glare.

"She, uh, and I know each other through… through a _mutual friend_ of sorts." Darrell took a sip of coffee, still grinning. "It seems she doesn't appreciate the association."

Harley frowned, suspicious of what Darrell said.

"And who's the mutual friend?"

Darrell waved Harley's questions away, still grinning.

"No one you'd know," He told her, "It's just sort of funny."

Harley frowned and reclined on the couch, sipping her coffee.

"Isn't everything these days?"

* * *

Bruce Wayne was stressed. This in itself was nothing new, but this time, it seemed unavoidable. The Joker, a man he'd worked so very hard to put in Arkham, had broken out and was now at large once more.

To make matters worse, it was daytime, so it was impossible for him to be out and about. Bruce was constrained to sitting in the kitchen, trying very hard to relax and read the newspaper.

However, this momentary peace was destroyed when Alfred came hurrying into the room, a pale look on his elderly face.

"Master Wayne," The man sounded frightened, which was very unusual, "Turn on GCN!"

Suddenly just as frightened as his butler, Bruce did so. The scene that greeted him was one that froze his very bones.

* * *

Harley was flicking through a magazine Darrell had picked up whilst getting coffee when his cell phone rang. The man answered it.

"Westway… Oh, hey, what's… Uh-huh…"

It trailed off for a moment and Harley didn't pay much attention until she heard the next bit.

"_What_?!" Darrell screamed into his phone, "He's doing _what_?!"

Harley, startled, leapt to her feet and looked at Darrell with widened eyes. There was no doubt in her mind as to who 'he' was.

"_No_!" Darrell looked demented, yelling into his phone and dragging his free hand through his hair, "This is… Just try and… _Argh_!"

With that, Darrell tossed his phone aside and started searching the room for something. Harley hovered over him, panicking.

"What's going on?" She demanded in a shrill voice, "What's happened? What's-"

"Shut up for a moment!" Darrell begged her, "And just tell me where the remote for the television is!"

"It's on the bedside table!" Harley pointed, "But what's-"

"Shh!" Darrell found the remote and turned the TV onto GCN, "Just look!"

Harley clamped her mouth shut and looked up at the television. As the scene on the television registered with her, it seemed everything else faded away in face of her fear, horror and enthrallment.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this just in." The blonde anchorwoman paused, obviously shocked as she scanned through the notes in front of her, "Escaped Arkham patient and infamous criminal mastermind 'The Joker' has just taken a building being used for a business convention by a branch of Wayne Enterprises hostage."

Harley gasped and Darrell glanced at her, equally distraught.

It got worse though.

"No demands have been made," The anchorwoman continued, voice betraying her own fear and horror, "But this video has been released. GCN warns that the following footage may upset small children and is very frightening…"

* * *

Bruce felt his heart quite literally stop for a split second when the anchorwoman delivered the news. Almost at the same moment, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Already knowing it would be about what was happening, he ignored it. Everything felt utterly surreal, like a terrible, terrible dream he couldn't wake up from.

"-But this video has been released…"

Bruce shook himself and refocussed on the television.

"GCN warns that the following footage may upset small children and is very frightening…"

Then, the video began.

* * *

"_Uh, helloooo Gotham City!" The Joker's face, painted anew and blazing with madness, hovered over the camera, "Loooong time no see…"_

_There was a split second of hesitation and the Joker's tongue darted over his crimson lips as he seemed to regard his audience through the camera itself._

"_Which," He continued eventually, "I mean to amend. Now. So listen up."_

_The Joker seemed to right the camera on its stand and suddenly, his entire body could be seen. He wore an acid green shirt beneath a royal purple blackjack dealer style vest. Even without moving, he contained a frenetic energy, an animalistic restlessness that seemed barely suppressed._

"_Gotham City hasn't, uh, hasn't seen anything yet." The Joker started again without warning, pressing his face back up to the camera. His eyes, almost black, contained a physical force. "If err, you thought that I was… that I made an impact last time, you were… wrong. __**You were wrong**__!"_

* * *

Harley stared at the television, frozen. She shook from fear and awe. She wanted so badly to look away, to turn the television off and leave the Joker's insanity forever. Or at least, she knew that's what should want. Instead, she moved closer to the television and pressed her trembling hands against the image of the Joker's face.

* * *

All of Gotham was frozen, like a hare beneath the predatory hawk. Across the city, everybody was swept up in the Joker's presence, in his intimidating nature. Everybody knew they should turn away, that witnessing this was _wrong_ somehow.

But they couldn't.

In the hearts of almost every human, there is the morbid desire, the urge to witness something horrific, even at one's own expense. It was like witnessing a train crash: you simply couldn't tear your gaze from this man, the self-proclaimed Clown Prince of Crime.

So, entrapped by their own terrible curiosity, all of Gotham City stopped and stared.

* * *

"_Sooo, I've arranged a little… __**demonstration**__." The Joker nodded slowly, ghastly face twisted in some demonic semblance of a smile. "Which is, uh, why I'm here today…"_

_The camera zoomed out and suddenly, a room full of frightened, but very still, business men and woman was visible. They all sat against a far wall, guarded by five men wearing clown masks and carrying shotguns._

"…_With these Wayne Enterprises employees." The Joker gave a giggle and capered over to the terrified hostages like the jester he claimed to be. "Wave hello kiddies!"_

_Trembling and ashen faced, the men and women raised their hands pitifully and waved, eyes begging for a miracle, for salvation from their tormentor._

_The Joker giggled once more and focussed the camera once more upon himself._

"_Now, uh, you may be wonderrrring," he seemed to have trouble containing the energy within himself, "W-uh-y Wayne Enterprises… __**Why**__ choose a company that does so much __**good**__ for Gotham City?"_

"_I'll tell you __**why**__," The Joker snarled, abruptly losing his comic expression, "B-uh-cause Wayne Enterprises is __**exactly**__ the sort of thing I __**hate**__: p-uh-erfectly ordered, a regular little goody-two shoes company p-uh-rancing about like they __**actually**__ care… I mean, where does Mist-ah Brucie-boy Wayne get off, pretending he __**knows**__ about poverty, he __**knows**__ about doing the, uh, the __**right**__ thing? He and his little… Little company here… They are exactly the hypocritical, backstabbing little __**schemers**__ that this city needs to learn to live without…"_

_The Joker trailed off, looking quite out of control for a moment. Then, he growled and the camera zoomed in even closer on him._

"_So here's the bottom line, Gotham," He was speaking a quieter, yet somehow more dangerous voice now, "I am going to show you what happens to __**schemers**__… What happens to those who __**defy**__ the __**absolute**__ laws of __**chaos**__…"_

_It was then that the Joker produced a large canister from somewhere. He held it up and shook it. The sounds of something liquid sloshing around inside were audible._

"_Watch closely Gotham." A maniacal smile twisted the Joker's face even further as he strolled over to a complicated piece of machinery. He fit the canister of unknown liquid in and put on a gas mask. The camera panned briefly to show the rest of the clowns doing the same._

"_**Watch and learrrn**__."_

_It was then that the Joker began to howl with laughter. Just before the video fizzled out though, something chilling happened._

_Dozens of other voices in the room joined him in hysterical, agonised laughter._

* * *

As the video ended, Bruce felt like vomiting. Everything seemed all too real now. Dimly, he registered Alfred saying something, but his shocked, horrified brain couldn't process it yet.

Then, his phone buzzed again. Bruce stared numbly at his pocket for a moment before slowly fishing the phone out and looking at the caller ID.

He knew the number. He answered.

"Bruce…" Gordon's voice was barely in control. "We need you."

Bruce struggled to speak for a second. Eventually however, he found strength for the only answer that he could give.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

**-Cue dramatic music and fadeout- **

**So, how's that for drama and a cliffie? :P**

**Review and I shall give you all purple vests and sticks of dynamite!**

**Love you all as always,**

**Vampassassin XX  
**


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